


a new song about a new life

by dothraki_shieldmaiden



Series: out there on the high dive [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: But mostly fluff, Dean Winchester Has a Panty Kink, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gentle Dom Castiel (Supernatural), Hand Jobs, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Married Life, Multi, Panty Kink, Teensy Bit of Angst, switch!cas, switch!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2020-09-27 15:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20409970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dothraki_shieldmaiden/pseuds/dothraki_shieldmaiden
Summary: There is no happily ever after. Mostly because there is no after. Life is just a series of days and nothing ever really ends. It just continues on, even after the curtain closes, and while the struggles might not be epic, they're no less impressive. Domestic life isn't without its pitfalls and trials, but at the end of the day, Dean and Cas still have each other and in the end, that's enough.A series of timestamps detailing the small adventures of Dean and Castiel. Will contain teensy amounts of angst and a heap of fluff and domesticity.





	1. turn to gold

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, here's the beginning of the timestamps for one million fires burning! Since these in large part take place _after_ the main story, they will make little to no sense if you haven't read that work first. 
> 
> Timestamps will be in semi-chronological order, but I can't promise anything <3 
> 
> If you have a burning desire to see a particular scenario, come and yell at me [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/dothwrites) and I'll see what I can do! 
> 
> ~*~*~*
> 
> This first timestamp takes place about six months after Dean and Cas' reunion/reconciliation in _one million fires burning_. 
> 
> ~*~*~*

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The invitation sits on Cas’ counter, printed on creamy card stock that’s thicker than some dicks Dean’s seen, and embossed with what he’s willing to bet is 14 karat gold lettering. The calligraphy is so damn pretty that it should probably belong in a museum. 

Dean glares at it and hates it. 

Next to him, Cas is a fucking wreck. 

That’s exaggerating a bit. Castiel Milton has only let himself become a visible fucking wreck on a handful of occasions, and most of those were when Dean’s dick was somewhere in the vicinity. But his family gets Cas twisted up in knots like few other things, and this invitation definitely qualifies as _Things that get Cas all twisted up_. 

“You don’t have to go,” Dean tries, mostly for Cas’ sake, but also a little for his. He’s no idiot: he saw the clear space marked for a ‘Plus One’. He has no wish to spend any time with Cas’ family, but he will, if that’s what the situation requires. Dean Winchester is a Good Boyfriend, and more importantly, he honestly, truly loves Cas. And if one of the requirements to loving Cas is showing up to support him for an excruciating afternoon, then well. Cas makes up for it the rest of the time. 

“But if you want to go, I’ll go with you.” That sentence comes out with the ease of swallowing crushed glass, but the naked gratitude in Cas’ eyes more than makes up for it. That look also tells Dean that he’d better make sure that his best suit is pressed in four months, because he and Cas are going to the wedding of Ms. Hael Milton and Mr. Josiah Matheson. 

\---

It’s not as bad as Dean thought that it would be. 

The families and friends of the bride and groom mill about the exquisite church. The marble of the floor is polished to a reflective shine that damn near gives him vertigo. Stained glass windows bounce colors off of the floor in a brilliant prism, which should be pretty, but only manages to give him a headache. The church is decorated with various tableaus which look like they belong in the Louvre instead of a church in Kansas City, Kansas. Dean is dressed in his best suit, which he snagged on sale at Macy’s for $250. The woman who brushes against him? Her dress is $2400 and tailored so well that Dean’s sure that she had to be sewn into it. 

Correction: it is exactly as bad as Dean thought it would be, and he is just trying to put a good face on the whole matter for Cas’ sake. 

Caught up in their euphoria at rekindling their relationship, there had been no question: Castiel spent both Christmas and New Year’s with Dean and his family. After a few tense moments between Cas and the rest of the family, everyone had relaxed and enjoyed the best damn holiday that Dean could remember having in quite some time. He never bothered to ask what the cost was to Cas’ familial relationships, but now, at the wedding, listening to the snide, passive-aggressive comments directed just shy of Cas’ direction, it’s made abundantly clear that the dereliction of duty was not taken lightly. 

It’s a recipe for disaster, especially considering that these past few months have already put a hell of a strain on the both of them. 

Anna’s medications were no longer available in generic form, which complicated matters immensely, considering that the generic stuff had already been stretching the budget to the breaking point. The name-brand stuff was astronomical, the kind of stuff that sent people to debtor’s prison back in the day. Add to that that Anna’s care service had recently been bought out by a new company and they had raised the rates for their services. Combined, it paints a grim picture. Cas’ bank account is rapidly shifting from ‘comfortable’ to ‘threadbare’, and if the trend continues it’s only a few short months before it makes the change to ‘empty’. 

The situation reached such a nadir that Dean offered to teach summer school to help offset the costs. The money that he would have gotten would have been negligible, but it would have at least helped. Cas had point-blank refused. “It’s not your problem,” had been his main reason, and he never shifted from that, not even when Dean pointed out that since they were together and partners, that Cas’ problems were his problems as well. 

As of now, Dean doesn’t see any solution; Cas won’t allow Dean to help with the bills, and even if he did, it’s not like Dean’s teacher salary leaves him rolling in cash. Cas isn’t eligible for a raise for another three years and has even less ways to raise cash on the side than Dean does. Dean’s greatest fear is that Cas, seeing no way out, will throw himself on the mercy of his family, become the prodigal son, and take over Milton Corp. 

“Hey Cas,” Dean says one night, when Cas looks like he’s stretched to his limits and not even a massage and a blowjob can remove the stress lines at the corners of his eyes. “You’d tell me if you were thinking of making any big decisions, right?” 

“Of course Dean,” Cas answers, his voice muffled on account of his face being pressed into the pillow. Dean has no choice but to believe him, but he’s like a skittish horse when it comes to Cas sharing important, life and career details. 

So this wedding could not have come at a worse time for both of them. Here, amongst what Dean’s lizard brain regards as the enemy, he’s wound tighter than Mayor Michael’s asshole. He’s constantly on the lookout for anyone that he perceives as a threat, including the bride. He still hasn’t forgiven Hael for her ‘teaching isn’t actual work’ crack two years ago. 

“We can leave as soon as the dancing starts,” Cas mutters. The brush of his fingers against the small of Dean’s back comes as a welcome relief. Dean relaxes into the touch, simultaneously loosening his grip on the flimsy champagne flute in his hand. “Shouldn’t be longer than a few more minutes.”

Dean tries to muffle the _Oh Thank God_, but it comes out anyway. Thankfully, Cas finds it amusing. Dean hears his low chuckle, just before Cas brushes his knuckles across the back of Dean’s neck. “Buck up love. I have faith in you.” 

Cas has barely finished speaking the words before another member of his family drags him away. For people who look like they’d just as soon spit as see Cas, they sure do want to talk to him a lot. Dean shakes his head and doesn’t even try to suppress the rolling of his eyes. Rich people. 

“Looks like you’re not enjoying the traditional Milton hospitality, Dean-o.” 

Dean remembers that voice. He looks over and slightly down to find sparkling hazel eyes that would look mischievous if there weren’t the faintest hint of malice lurking in the shadows. Gabriel Milton raises a flute of champagne in a toast before downing the whole thing in a single swallow. Somehow, he manages to make even that look vaguely dignified. 

Dean takes a smaller sip of his champagne. It tastes like stomach acid. He licks his lips and tries to chase away the taste, without giving the impression that he’s displeased. Fancy people like champagne right? The rest of the Miltons seem to be guzzling it down like there’s no tomorrow. 

Gabriel watches him. Dean’s willing to bet that he sees more than that goofy looking smile would suggest. 

“Is every shindig like this?” Dean gestures around at the elaborate outfits. There’s enough jewelry glittering to blind him. 

“Pretentious and stifling?” Gabriel snags another flute. “Yeah, pretty much. It’s certainly not the hoedown.” 

Dean’s eyes search for Castiel. It’s an automatic response, as involuntary as a muscle spasm. He finds him easily, talking to a small group of relatives. The expression on his face is one of vague discomfort, which vanishes as their eyes meet. 

“Ugh. Gross. If that’s what you two are like from across the room then I really hate to see what it’s like when you’re within a ten foot radius of each other. Do you provide full body condoms for anyone within range of your eye-fucking?”

Dean’s eyes widen and he looks around to make sure that Gabriel’s rather loud voice didn’t carry through the polished marble room. His experience with formal religion is fairly scant, but he’s almost positive that you can’t say _fucking_ inside a church. 

The rest of the Miltons ignore them, either unaware of or accustomed to Gabriel. Their indifference gives Dean the opportunity to glare down at the smaller man, who grins cheekily up at him. 

“Seriously, it’s nice to see our Cassie settled down with someone who’s not a complete douchenozzle. Time was, I thought that he was going to die alone and get eaten by his cats.”

“Cas doesn’t have--”

“He would have ended up that way. Just an old spinster in a house smelling of piss and whatever the olfactory equivalent of loneliness is.” Gabriel grins at him, and more than a hint of malice is in the curve of his lips. “Just remember, you’re all that stands between Castiel and fourteen cats, so don’t think that you can run off.” 

Dean bristles--whether at the idea that he would leave Cas, or at the implication that Cas is a crazy cat-lady in waiting, he’s not sure. Gabriel’s saved from his witty rejoinder (it would have gone something along the lines of _fuck off_) by the sound of raised voices. 

Instinctively, Dean turns towards the noise. He’s the only one who does. The rest of the Miltons focus intently on their conversations. The low hum of the room rises, but it doesn’t come close to drowning out the sounds of an escalating argument. Fingers tighten around the stems of glasses and Dean can see the pinched expressions on the people around him, but he ignores them in favor of concentrating more on the argument. 

“--every time, it’s the same thing--”

“--just because you were always Daddy’s favorite, you think that you can lord it over the rest of us--”

“--acting like a damn child and breaking everything just to show that you can--”

“--don’t ask me to bow down and worship you just because everyone else here does!”

The sound of breaking glass echoes through the venue. Dean flinches at the sound. Too many bad nights with John featured that sound, and for a moment the memories flood him--beer bottles flung at the wall, Sam’s quiet sniffles as Dad stormed out of the room, glass shards embedding themselves underneath his nails and blood trickling down his fingers as he cleaned the room. John had a bad stretch of luck which spanned three months and during that time Dean wouldn’t let Sam walk around the room barefoot, not even to go to and from the bathroom. 

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Gabriel drawls, his eyes flicking from Dean’s face to what appears to be Ground Zero. “No Milton wedding is complete without an appearance of the Michael and Lucas show.” He chuckles and for the first time there’s no hint of mirth in his face. “You think this is bad, try growing up with it.” 

Dean nods in commiseration, is maybe even about to say something along the lines of how he could possibly understand what it’s like growing up around volatile personalities, but he’s interrupted by the arrival of a stranger. 

He’s tall with sandy blond hair. His expensive suit clings to his frame in a way that should be impossible outside of red carpets and charity galas. All of his features are reasonably handsome--eyes, nose, mouth--but something about the way that they’re assembled makes Dean’s skin crawl. There’s no warmth in the man’s light eyes and his mouth is curled in anger. 

Gabriel blinks and the sudden wariness in his posture is enough to put Dean even more on edge. “Lucas,” Gabriel greets. 

Lucas smiles. It reminds Dean of an alligator right before it strikes. “Gabriel.” He doesn’t move to hug Gabriel, or even shake his hand. Instead the two eye each other like they’re opponents in a cage match. Dean can’t ever imagine eyeing Sam with that kind of mistrust or hostility. What must Cas’ childhood have been like? What did it do a person, growing up in an environment where love was nothing more than an abstract concept? 

“And you are?” 

Dean jolts back into the moment to find two pairs of eyes on him. Gabriel wavers between amusement and mild horror, while Lucas looks like a snake who had a mouse dangled in front of it. “Dean Winchester.” Even though he feels like there’s a trap waiting for him, he extends his hand. 

Lucas’ handshake is a battle. He doesn’t squeeze obscenely hard or jerk Dean forward, but there’s something deeply unsettling in the contact. He’s glad when Lucas releases him and he fights the urge to wipe his hand on his pants leg. 

“And are you with the bride or groom?”

“He’s with Castiel.” Lucas raises his eyebrows in an unspoken question, and Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Castiel, your cousin who lived in your house for several years?”

Lucas pretends to think, but Dean already saw the recognition in his eyes. “I thought that he was some sort of monk. He managed to snag you?” Lucas’ eyes travel up and down Dean’s body and this time, Dean doesn’t manage to suppress the shiver wracking his body. “Well done to him I suppose.” 

Gabriel’s expression could best be described as a wince. Dean looks around for Castiel, desperate for a rescue, but Cas has disappeared into some corner of the room and unavailable for a retrieval mission. Dean’s alone and worse, he’s forgotten how to extract himself from an uncomfortable social situation. The only recourse which comes to mind is to set the building on fire, which Dean is fairly certain is both illegal and difficult to complete without getting caught. All he can do is wait for the next salvo to come his way. 

“Where’s the other one?” Lucas asks, casting his eyes around the venue. He clarifies when he catches the confused expressions thrown his way. “The redhead.”

An uncomfortable lump rises in Dean’s throat. An animal instinct rises in the face of Lucas’ flat, snake-like eyes--_protect, protect, protect_. It’s the same urge that compelled him to shove Sam into the bathroom when John was having a bad night, the same worry that always put him between his brother and his father. 

“Anna couldn’t make it,” Dean says tightly. His eyes flick to Gabriel, but he needn’t have worried. Gabriel’s eyes are focused on Lucas’ face. There’s a tightness to the corners of his mouth and eyes. 

Lucas hums as he taps his chin in a parody of thought. “She too busy at the crazy people place?”

Dean flinches like he’s been struck. He and Cas never come out and say it. Cas usually just says that his sister is ‘not well’, which covers her condition pretty well. To have Lucas come out and say the ‘C’ word so blatantly and so cruelly--Dean could kind of punch him. For the first time in his life, he sympathizes with Mayor Michael. 

“I think I’m going to go,” he says stiffly.

A laugh from Lucas freezes him. “Oh, don’t get your hackles up. It was only a joke. How are our dear little Anna and Castiel? I assume that you know better than the rest of us, considering that he ditched his family for you.”

“He didn’t ditch his whole family.” Dean’s been playing nice through this whole wedding, aware of the fact that Cas, for whatever reason, still wants some kind of relationship with his family. He’s been on his best behavior, but he’s at the breaking point. He can’t sit here and listen to this asshole insult Cas and Anna, he just can’t. 

Dean bares his teeth in what he hopes is his most irritating smile. “He just ditched the useless ones.” 

He was expecting Lucas Milton to take offense to that, maybe bristle. Hell, part of him almost hopes that he throws a punch. Instead, Lucas does the one thing he doesn’t expect, which is throw his head back and laugh. 

“Oh Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean.” Lucas throws an arm around his shoulders in a gesture that’s half friendly, half threat. “I think that I might actually like you.” 

The way the words come out of his mouth make Dean shiver. He doesn’t want to be liked by Lucas Milton, not now, not ever, but here they are. Gabriel is of no help, as he surveys the interaction happening before him. At least he looks like he isn’t garnering any amusement out of it. 

“So tell us about our dear Castiel. What’s he been up to these days?”

Dean offers as few details about Cas’ life as humanly possible. He tells Lucas about Cas’ job at the university in the broadest of terms. If he could get away with it, he wouldn’t have even told him the name of the college, but it’s Lawrence and there’s not that many options to choose from. 

“Huh,” Lucas says, after Dean’s short rendition. “Good to hear that he hasn’t bent over for Michael like everyone else in the family.” Gabriel straightens, an indignant look on his face, and Lucas flings an indulgent smile in his direction. “Almost everyone else in the family. It seems that with the exception of myself, you, and our sweet little Cassie, everyone else is perfectly willing to lick the scraps off of Michael’s plate. What integrity we have.” 

Caught up in the stress of the past weeks, sleepless night riding on top of sleepless night, Dean speaks without thinking. “Yeah, for all the good that it’s done Cas.” 

Finally, Dean catches the family resemblance between Cas, Gabriel, and Lucas. Both Gabriel and Lucas’ focus sharpens in an instant, narrowing down to laser-intensity as they stare at him. There’s a very Cas-like gleam in both of their eyes, and Gabriel frowns in the exact same way that Cas does when faced when an unforeseen problem. 

“Problems in paradise Dean-o?” Gabriel asks, in a deceptively light tone. Beside Gabriel, Lucas eyes him in a way that reminds Dean of a wolf-pack circling a lame deer. 

Dean could slap himself. “Nope. It’s all puppies and rainbows over here.” His smile feels brittle as it splits his face. 

“Don’t lie,” Lucas admonishes. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” Dean bites out, the old instinct to keep his problems private rising. John Winchester had always been adamant--their problems were _their_ problems, not be discussed with the rest of the world for their entertainment. “Seriously.” 

Neither Gabriel or Lucas looks convinced by his less than stellar rendition of a regular person. They don’t even have to speak. Like Cas, their eyes manage to speak volumes. They say _Tell us what the fuck is going on right now_. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Dean says, lying through his teeth. “It’s just that after this whole clusterfuck with the insurance, Cas had to shoulder the medical bills. It’s a lot, you know that, so he started teaching at the university, and things were fine for a while, but then they raised the cost of her meds and her care and we’re…” Maybe he should stop. Scratch that--he should definitely stop talking, but try as he might, Dean can’t stop the word vomit. “It’s a lot, and Cas won’t let me help with any of the bills and I don’t...He’s going to come crawling back to Michael and tell him that he’s willing to take the job at Milton Corp. That’s what this whole thing is about. Michael wants Cas to take over the company so he doesn’t have any conflicting interests for the campaign.” 

Dean keeps his eyes carefully focused in the middle distance. It’s a strategy which reduces both Miltons’ faces into indistinct blurs, and it’s probably the only reason that he keeps hold of himself. He can’t stop from glancing over his shoulder to judge where Cas is in relation to him. He knows that Cas, Mr. Keep Your Problems to Yourself Under Any Circumstances, would be beyond furious if he overheard him spilling their dirty laundry to his cousins. But at the moment, faced with not one, but two prying Miltons, Dean doesn’t quite regret his decision. 

When he finally tears his eyes down to Lucas and Gabriel’s face, Dean is astonished at the fire he sees there. Lucas’ upper lip curls in contempt that Dean can only hope isn’t directed towards him, while Gabriel’s normally laughing eyes spark with barely contained rage. 

“I knew that he was a big bag of dicks, but that’s just…” Gabriel’s chest moves with huge, heaving breaths. “I’d say that I’m surprised, but honestly, it’s just like Mike to pull some shady shit like this. He always treated Cas like he should licking his boots for giving him the courtesy of a place to live. Not surprised that he decided to dick over Cas’ life, but Anna…I always thought he had a soft spot for her. He was her idol when they first moved in. She would follow him around like a little lovesick puppy, hanging on his every word. It would’ve been pathetic if it wasn’t endearing.” 

While Gabriel speaks, Dean keeps his eyes on Lucas. In terms of emotions, Gabriel’s an open book but Lucas is like murky water, swallowing any attempts to decipher his depths and reflecting back only a blurry version of Dean’s own face. He rolls his eyes when Gabriel mentions Anna’s hero-worship of Michael, but other than that, makes no sign that he’s even listening. 

“Thoughts?” At Gabriel’s pointed question, Lucas finally snaps to attention. 

An unpleasant sort of smile crawls across his face and Dean tries and fails to suppress the spider-shiver that chases itself across the back of his neck at the sight of it. “Loathe as I am to play the hero, I do so enjoy disappointing our dear brother.” His voice is almost a low purr and while Gabriel doesn’t appear alarmed, the tiny voice in Dean’s head blares _Danger Dean Winchester Danger Danger_ in varying tones of alarm.

“Don’t worry,” Lucas croons. “We’ll think of something. You just trust us.” 

Dean wouldn’t trust Lucas Milton with picking up the check at a restaurant, let alone his family, but he doesn’t have much of a chance to refute him. Finally, hours too late, Cas comes up to join him. At the touch of Cas’ hand sliding around the small of his back to his hip, Dean melts. It’s all he can do to restrain himself from tucking his nose into the crook of Cas’ neck like a child. 

“Sorry,” Cas murmurs, putting additional pressure on Dean’s hip. He knows that Dean needs that sometimes, needs the sensation to stay grounded and in the moment. “Once Hester opens her mouth it’s impossible to get away.” Cas’ voice becomes louder when he turns to his cousins. “Gabriel. Lucas.” Their names are said with differing degrees of warmth and it reassures Dean to know that even Cas speaks to Lucas with some hint of reserve. 

“Castiel.” Lucas’ voice has only a hint of a lilt. “Good to see you here. Finally.” If Castiel notices the hint of reproach in Lucas’ voice, he doesn’t mention it. 

“So serious.” Gabriel’s voice takes on its nasally, sing-song quality. Dean wonders if anyone else can tell that it’s forced. “You can’t tell me that if you had a hunk of beef like that at home, you wouldn’t opt for home-cooked instead of take-out?” Gabriel gives Dean the elevator eyes and even licks his lips with a wet _popping_ noise. 

“Goodbye Gabriel. Lucas.” Castiel doesn’t wait for the echo to die down before he’s ushering Dean away. His fingers are five points of steel pressure at the small of Dean’s back. Something squirms delightfully in Dean’s stomach--he loves when Cas gets like this, all icy eyes and clenched jaw, flawless control packed into a six foot frame. 

Cas doesn’t stop until they’re tucked away in a small niche of the church. Most likely, this is used for confessions or private sermons. Dean comes to this conclusion as he leans forward and, with the precision of a surgeon, places a kiss in the hollow underneath Cas’ ear. 

“Baby,” Dean hums, rubbing his lips against the rough place at the corner of Cas’ jaw. “Sweetheart.” He nips at the bolt of Cas’ jaw, just a hint of teasing contact, before he nuzzles into Cas’ hair. “Can we please, please, go?”

“Jesus,” Cas groans, his fingers digging into Dean’s bicep, “I thought you’d never ask.” 

\---

At some point in the past six months, Dean became an old man. He’s not sure when the change happened, only that it did, and he was through the other side before he even noticed that it was happening at all. His twenty-one year old self would mourn at the switch, but that Dean was kind of an asshole and Dean wouldn’t change this for the world. 

He elbows Cas out of the way and leans over the sink to spit out a mouth full of toothpaste foam. Cas goes willingly, still scrubbing at his teeth as Dean swishes a mouthful of water to get the lingering paste out of his mouth. He spits that out and watches Cas for a moment. 

Dark circles linger under Cas’ eyes like bad tenants who won’t leave after the eviction notice. He still fills out the thin cotton shirt, but his collarbone is more pronounced than it was a few months ago. An air of permanent fatigue clings to his frame, the kind of tired that doesn’t go away with a night’s sleep. When he slumps off towards the bedroom, Dean watches the way that his spine curls inward, preemptively warding off any blows or misfortune. 

By the time that Dean makes it into bed, Cas is already curled up on the mattress, knees tucked close to this chest. Dean watches him for a moment, fondness warming his chest and chasing away all the unpleasant emotions of the day. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for this man. 

They’ve talked about moving in together. They plan on moving in together. Right now they float between their two houses and while they rarely spend a night apart, the nomadic aspect of their existence is starting to wear on Dean. And if Dean is feeling exhausted, he can only imagine what Cas feels. 

“Hey good lookin’,” Dean murmurs as he slides into bed. He curls up behind Cas and places an absent kiss the nape of his neck. “How you feeling?”

Cas grunts, one hand coming up to pat ineffectually at Dean’s shoulder. “Like I want to sleep for a year,” he finally says. The words are already slurred with exhaustion. 

“Okay sweetheart.” Dean pushes his nose into the bump of Cas’ spine and wraps his arm over Cas’ waist. “You just sleep.” 

Cas makes a noise of agreement, then nullifies it by rolling over to face Dean. “I’m sorry if Gabriel and Lucas gave you a hard time. They can be...difficult.” 

Dean shrugs. He still can’t shake off the lingering discomfort that talking with Lucas brought him, but in terms of absolutely terrible encounters… “Your family’s weird Cas,” he says by way of explanation. “At least they didn’t spend the entire time telling me that my time would be better spent if I switched careers.” 

A pained grimace crosses Cas’ face and Dean kisses it away before Cas has the chance to dwell on the thought. “It’s fine babe,” he says, placing small kisses over Cas’ cheeks, nose, forehead, and lips. Cas scrunches his face up in the way that means he’s trying not to smile. “Guess you’ll just have to make it up to me, huh?” He thrusts his hips forward, leaving no doubt as to how Cas can deliver. 

Cas’ expression is less than impressed. “Dean,” he says flatly. “If you’re expecting anything tonight, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.” 

Dean whines, but there’s a smile in the sound. “Go to sleep,” he says, eyelids already drooping. He falls asleep with his hand splayed on the flat expanse of Cas’ belly and the scent of Cas’ shampoo heavy in his nose. It’s not a terrible life, not a bad life at all. 

\---

A few days later, Dean’s halfway into dinner prep when Cas comes home. He’s been pulling long days at the college, prepping for the beginning of a new semester, so it’s easier for Dean to sneak into Cas’ house and fix dinner there. That way all Cas has to worry about is eating and getting ready for bed. 

“Hey sweet thing,” Dean greets Cas, tossing the endearment over his shoulder. He keeps his attention on the pot of sauce bubbling on the stove, humming happily when Cas wraps his arms around his waist. 

“That looks good,” Cas murmurs, pressing a kiss just behind Dean’s ear. Dean leans back into him, squirming when Cas pats over his stomach. Faux-married life might have been good for his peace of mind and overall happiness, but it hasn’t suited his waistline in the slightest. If he doesn’t start exercising soon, then he’s going to be gross and fat and Cas is going to leave him for some younger male model type. 

Dean hasn’t voiced any of these thoughts to Cas, probably because Cas will pinch his ass and not in the sexy way. 

Cas pulls away and Dean tries not to pout from the loss. A swift glance tells him that Cas is going through the mail, which isn’t out of the ordinary, at least until Cas freezes. “It’s from Anna’s care service,” Cas answers in response to Dean’s unvoiced question. Tension snaps through the room and it turns Cas’ posture brittle. 

Cas slides his thumb under the seal and rips the envelope open in one, vicious tear. Dean lingers at the stove, uncertain of whether he should rush forward or stay back. He watches Cas’ eyes travel over the paper, noting the small wrinkle in his forehead. After a moment, Cas looks up. 

“What is it?” Dean asks, already braced for bad news. For so long, any update they’ve gotten from the service has been full of nothing but. 

“It’s from the billing department,” Cas answers, handing over the letter. He looks dumbstruck, which doesn’t happen often. “They’ve...Apparently a third party is taking over payments for Anna’s care and medications.” 

“What?” Dean seizes the letter and scans over it. The writing is in a bunch of legalese that he doesn’t understand, but the basic gist is what Cas said. He still retains medical power of attorney over Anna, but all costs will be borne by an outside party. “I don’t…Do you want me to get Sam to look into this?” 

Cas’ eyes are distant. “Dean,” he says slowly, obviously assembling the various pieces of the puzzle as quickly as he can, “what did you and my cousins talk about at the wedding?”

Dean thinks for a moment and then his mouth drops open. “I didn’t...you think that they?”

Cas shrugs as he walks over to Dean. “I think that we should be very, very thankful for any blessings that we get and not ask stupid questions.” He takes the letter out of Dean’s hands and sets it down deliberately on the counter. 

There’s purpose in Cas’ kiss, barely restrained heat as he tilts Dean’s head and coaxes his lips open. Heat bubbles in Dean’s stomach--between all the stress of the past weeks, this is definitely a facet of their relationship that’s been missing--but he does have to voice a protest. “Cas,” he croaks, hating himself for speaking. “Cas,” he tries again as Cas kisses a determined path down his throat to nose at the collar of his t-shirt. “I’ve got...I can’t burn this.” He gestures at the sauce, now merrily bubbling on the stove. 

“So don’t burn it,” Cas answers, spinning Dean around in one smooth motion. 

“Oh...oh fuck,” Dean gasps as Cas’ hands work at the button of his pants. “Cas, Cas, you can’t...That’s not _sanitary_,” he tries, groaning as Cas’ hand dips into his boxers and closes around his definitely not uninterested dick. 

“Dean, dinner’s burning,” Cas answers, in the silky smooth voice that never fails to get Dean’s motor revving. His hand starts to stroke, a little too dry, at least at first. That’s before Cas brings his palm up in front of Dean’s face, his purpose clear. 

“_Fuck_,” Dean breathes, his knees going weak. “You’re a dirty bastard, you know that, right?”

“Dean,” Cas warns, punctuating his threat with a sharp nip to his neck. 

Dean’s tongue laves out before he can even think to disobey, tasting the salt of Cas’ skin. He pauses to suck Cas’ index and middle fingers into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the pads just to hear the soft curse muffled into the fabric of his shirt. 

Cas’ spit-slick hand leaves his mouth to close around him once more. Dean grips the countertop, breathing slowly through his nose as Cas strokes him just how he likes, with the little flick of his wrist at the head. 

“Have I told you,” Cas begins, his tone as conversational as if they were discussing weekend plans over dinner, “how utterly perfect you are?” 

Dean brings the back of his hand to his mouth and bites into the skin there, muffling his whimper. Cas’ breath tickles the back of his neck, hot and enticing. “Have I mentioned how lovely you are? How patient? How much I love you?” He squeezes Dean for emphasis, thumb stroking over the slit in his cock. 

It’s embarrassing, how quickly Dean rushes to the edge, or at least it would be, if Cas didn’t know how to play him like a violin. The sauce is bubbling over and no doubt will taste a little singed, but he doesn’t care about that, not with Cas’ teeth scoring the back of his neck, not with Cas’ free hand dipping into his boxers to tug at his balls, not with Cas’ voice, as dark and sweet as sin, murmuring filth in his ear. 

“Look at you, christ. You’re like a work of art, like something that ought to be in a museum, but I get to see you like this. So beautiful, you’re so gorgeous, and I’m the lucky one who gets to see it...Love you so much, so much love, you going to come for me?”

“Cas,” Dean manages to croak out, before he’s coming over Cas’ knuckles. He misses the stove, but just barely. Immediately after, his knees give out and he has to brace himself on the counter. 

“Jesus,” Dean wheezes, once stars stop bursting behind his eyelids. “You don’t do anything by halves, do you?”

Cas hums against his shoulder, happiness and satisfaction in the sound. “Love you,” he says, his hands sweeping over Dean’s stomach and chest, heedless of the mess in his wake. “I know that it’s not been easy these past few weeks and--”

“Hey.” Dean finally turns the heat down on the burner so he can turn around and give Cas his full attention. “Hey. It’s not like that. We’re a package deal, you know that. For better or worse.” He knows what he’s doing, using that terminology, and he gets a thrill from listening to Cas’ happy murmur of acknowledgement. 

For better or worse. He wouldn’t trade this life for anything.  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	2. where you want to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas loves his job at KU. He really, really does. Eventually, Dean loves it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This timestamp takes place a year into Cas and Dean's official relationship, or about six months before the epilogue to _one million fires burning_.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dean enters his townhouse that afternoon with a bounce in his step. He’s already planning dinner, something that Cas will like, because he’d like every factor on his side. Not that he thinks that Cas will say no. It’s just better to always be prepared. 

By the time that Castiel drags in, Dean has dinner almost finished. He watches Cas perk up, following his nose over to the stove. “What’s this?” Cas asks, nosing into the gap of skin revealed by his shirt collar. 

“Not much.” Dean tries for nonchalance, even though he knows that Cas will sniff that out faster than a drug dog moving through a row of lockers. He made salad for Christ’s sake, and not even a Caesar salad, but a real one, with romaine and spinach, and carrots and eggs, and countless other vegetables that he normally doesn’t even touch. There's _radishes_ in this monstrosity. The salmon that he roasted has asparagus alongside it as a side. 

On second thought, he might have gone a little overboard, but this is a big question and he wants to make sure that he gets the right answer. 

Cas, bless his soul, waits until the dinner is almost fully consumed before he puts down his fork with casual deliberateness. “So,” he says, and the weight of that single word has Dean sitting upright. “Not that I’m complaining about seeing something green for dinner, far from it in fact, but I have to ask what the occasion is?” Dean does his best attempt at innocence. When he looks at Cas to see how well it’s going over, he’s not surprised to see Cas’ nonplussed look. 

“There’s green food on my plate and you put it there without having to be reminded to do so,” Cas says flatly. “Now tell me what you want.” 

“Spivey’s retiring at the end of the year,” Dean says, shooting Cas an unsure grin. “With her gone, there’s an opening in the History department.” 

Cas hums, and Dean continues, though he can sense that he’s starting to flounder. “So...So your old job is up for grabs. You know. If you wanted it.”

Underneath the cool blue gaze of Cas’ eyes, Dean falters. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure of how this conversation was going to go; he just heard the news as he was leaving school and immediately had the thought: _I need to tell Cas_. With Anna’s care handily taken care of by Gabriel and Lucas, money isn’t quite as large of a concern as it was. Without the dollar signs hanging over his head, Dean can admit--He misses Cas. 

He misses going by his classroom and seeing him there. He misses lunch with him, or quick conversations between classes. He misses after-school meetings with Cas sitting across the table from him. 

Cas doesn’t seem to feel the same, if his deer-in-the-headlight eyes are anything to judge by. “I, uh...I hadn’t really considered it,” he finally says. His voice is smooth, but his hands falter as he cuts through his salmon. 

“Yeah, well you’re considering it now,” Dean says. The forced note of brightness falls flat in the awkward silence that descended on the table like a thick curtain. “So? What do you think?”

He knows, in the part of his brain that speaks sense and considers the emotions and motivations of others, that pushing Cas is a bad idea. Nothing good ever comes from pressuring Cas into something that he doesn’t feel like doing. All signs point to Cas’ supreme discomfort with this line of questioning, but Dean can’t stop himself from picking at it, like a toddler with a peeling scab. 

“Honestly, I really haven’t,” Cas mumbles. If he cuts his salmon into tinier pieces, he’ll be feeding Lilliputians. “When I took the job at KU, I really never thought that I was going to come back.” 

“Well, there were a lot of reasons why you wouldn’t,” Dean says, aggressively pushing past all of those reasons, as they occurred in a not great part in their lives. “But now things have settled down--”

“Dean.” Cas’ voice is the particular shade of flat that foreshadows disaster. “I appreciate the thought, and while I miss Lawrence High and all of you, I’m happy where I am.” 

Dean blinks as he sits back in his chair. His silverware clatters on the plate, forgotten. It doesn’t really come as a surprise, the fact that Cas likes his job, but the sting of rejection still smarts. 

“Right. Ok. Well, just thought that I would ask. But no, that’s cool. That’s fine.” Dean picks up his fork and knife and spears an asparagus stalk. Butter and sauce smears across his cheek as he chews with gusto, but every bite is bitter on his tongue. 

It’s not often that the quiet between them is awkward, but this is one of those times. Dean wishes, suddenly, that he were anywhere else, with anyone else. Cas apparently feels the same, as he shovels the food into his mouth with alarming speed. He pushes back from the table, chair screeching across the kitchen floor. 

“I think that I’m just going to call it a night. I’ve got a lot of grading that I still need to finish, plus a department meeting in the morning.” The words sound innocuous enough, but Cas’ eyes don’t quite meet his as he speaks. Instead, his eyes do a swift dart to the side before they ever make contact. Finally, Cas manages to connect, and even though he smiles, there’s still discomfort in the look. 

“Right. All right. That’s fine.” Inwardly, Dean winces. He’d been looking forward to a quiet night with Cas, blowjobs optional. But Cas is already picking up his coat and heading towards the door. The kiss placed on his lips feels cold, like an afterthought, and before Dean can blink, Cas is out the door. 

\---

The next days pass normally, if having minimal contact with Cas after being joined at the hip for several months could be considered normal. They text, but Cas doesn’t stop by for dinner, and Dean doesn’t sneak into his house to surprise him with a meal. Instead, he brings home stacks of papers and drags them into his bed just so there isn’t quite as much negative space there. He falls asleep grading and leaves a giant smear on an essay while Iron Chef plays in the background. All the while, he tries not to miss the warmth of Cas next to him. 

Charlie calls him out on his bad mood the next day over lunch. Dean grunts and snarls, and does everything short of pinning his ears, but she persists. Finally, Dean breaks, like she knew he would. 

“I just thought that he would want the opportunity to come back,” he says, through a mouthful of his roast beef sandwich. “You know, it’s not like money is a thing anymore, and I know that he was happy here. You know Naomi would hire him back in a heartbeat if he reapplied.” 

Charlie listens and nods in the right places, even going so far as to offer a pensive hum. Finally, she turns to Dean. “You ever consider that maybe he doesn’t want to quit being a professor?”

“I mean, I know that he likes the college life, but he never wanted that. He was forced into it.” 

Charlie shrugs. “Maybe at first, but sometimes we end up liking things that we didn’t think that we would. Look at you. Two years ago, you couldn’t be in the same room with Cas without spitting and now you two are moving in together.” 

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean mutters. Charlie’s eyes turn cold and vicious as she glares at him. “What?” Dean snaps, automatically defensive. “We’re not in a fight or anything, it’s just...I was really looking forward to him coming back and working here, and if he doesn’t even care…”

“Dean, I love you, but sometimes you need to pull your head out of your butt,” Charlie says, not entirely unkindly. “Did you ever bother asking Cas what he wants? Or how he feels about his job?”

Under the Fifth Amendment, Dean isn’t required to incriminate himself, so he doesn’t answer that question. He and Cas talk about their jobs, but now that he thinks about it, he’s never asked in so many words, how Cas feels about his job at the university. 

“Why don’t you ask him?” Charlie’s eyes and voice have softened and the hand on his shoulder is just short of pitying. “It would at least be better than this crap.” 

\---

Dean’s a big believer in research. After lunch and his last class of the day, he uses his planning period to go onto Rate My Professors. Turns out that there’s only one Castiel Milton teaching in the esteemed universities of America, which isn’t all that surprising. What is surprising is the number of reviews Cas has, considering that he’s only been at the university for a year and a half. 

A warm glow of pride flickers in Dean’s chest as he notes Cas’ overall rating on the site--4.5. “Not too bad babe,” he murmurs, forgetting for a moment that he’s still a little mad and a lot hurt. He scrolls through the reviews, noting that Cas has consistent ratings for difficulty level and quality. As interesting as those are, the comments are even better. 

_Lecture heavy, but they’re interesting and thought provoking. Professor Milton is accessible outside of class for those seeking extra help._

_Even though it wasn’t anything to do with my major I always looked forward to going to this class. You’re going to work hard, but it’s worth it. Really glad that I decided to take this course._

If you skip class, then you won’t pass! But it’s all right, because Professor Milton is pretty easy on the eyes ;)

_Knows his stuff! The tests line up with what’s discussed in class, so if you do your work, then you’ll do just fine. Also second what the previous reviewer says--You do get a nice view during class. =)_

Dean’s eyebrows creep upward at the last two comments. He looks over his shoulder, like he’s somehow expecting Cas to creep over his shoulder. It feels a little like snooping, but Dean values this peek into this facet of Cas’ life. It feels like the curtain has been pulled back, revealing the man behind the scenes. 

It’s after he reads the reviews of Cas’ classes that Dean figures out what he needs to do next. 

\---

It’s not that Dean doesn’t trust Cas. It’s just that, even after a year of dating, they’re still stuck in their old routines. Instead of communicating like a regular couple would do, he decides to sneak into Cas’ afternoon class to observe the man in action. It’s a tight squeeze for his schedule, but he manages to slide into Cas’ 4:30 class moments before the man himself enters. In his seat in the back, Dean scooches down. He can’t help but feel like he’s doing something wrong, and guilt squirms uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. That guilt disappears as Cas clears his throat and begins class. 

Dean might be biased, but he thinks that it’s an interesting class. Cas leads the class through a forty-five minute lecture on potential causes of the Civil War, then opens the floor for discussion. Dean slides down in his seat as Cas’ eyes scan through the classroom, looking for volunteers as well as those trying to hide. Those students are few and far between. Most of the class have their hands raised as they glance between Cas and their notes. 

Dean doesn’t spend much time looking at the students. Instead, all of his attention is on Cas: how he moves around the front of the room, how he gestures in large, sweeping motions as he makes a point. The way that his face animates when a student makes what he considers to be a particularly astute point. The sound of his voice as it dips and dives through the lecture hall. 

He’s _alive_ here, in a way that Dean rarely sees outside closed doors. He’s comfortable in front of the room, in a way that he never was in Lawrence High. The closest thing Dean can liken it to is a dancer, who was always half a step behind the rest, finally catching up to the beat, finally surpassing it and consuming it, until they _are_ the rhythm. 

How could he ask Cas to leave this? Just thinking of it makes a sick little curl of guilt slither through Dean’s stomach. 

Cas glances towards the clock and starts winding the discussion down. He looks around the room, and his eyes seem to catch over Dean’s seat. Dean ducks down, and Cas’ eyes pass over him, to glance at the book. “Please make sure to read Chapters Three and Four for class next week. Remember that your first research paper is going to be due in three weeks, so if you have any questions see me during office hours, or else pop by the writing center.” 

A soft susurrus begins as the students shove their notebooks and books into their bags. Cas smiles, quick and sincere, before stepping back. “Have a good weekend and I’ll see you next week!” The whisper of papers becomes a rumble of feet as students stand and make their way towards the door. Many of them wish Cas a good day and a nice weekend, and Dean notices the way that some of the girls’ eyes linger over his frame as they ask Cas if he has any plans. Cas smiles, tells them that he’s just planning on a quiet weekend, and doesn’t seem to notice their interest or their disappointment. 

Eventually, the last student leaves and Dean is alone in the lecture hall with Cas. Cas has his back to him, shuffling the papers and books on the desk, and for a brief second, Dean thinks that he might get out of this unnoticed, but then Cas speaks. His low voice carries through the hall, to settle right on Dean’s shoulder. “Well, Mr. Winchester, was there a question that you needed to ask me?”

The game up, Dean sits straight up before making his way down the steps to the front of the hall. “You’d better be careful. Otherwise you’re going to create a hell of a lot of Professor/Student roleplay fetishes.”

Cas hums as he turns his attention to the whiteboard. His back is still to Dean as he erases his neat, block writing in quick, jerky motions. “You’ve had worse ideas lately.” 

Though unintended, the barb stings. Cas isn’t facing him so he misses Dean’s flinch, but Dean doesn’t miss the tension between his shoulders, or the way that his knuckles are tight around the eraser. 

All of Dean’s anger, all of the lingering hurt he felt, all of that disappears. He just wants to hug Cas, bury his nose in his hair, and feel Cas’ arms come around him. Back in his other relationships, hell, back when he and Cas were doing their non-relationship, he could hold onto a grudge for weeks. He could nurse it and nurture it, until the grudge was big enough to send off to college. But now…

“Cas. Babe. Can we talk?”

Some of the lingering tension falls from Cas’ shoulders and the result just makes him look very tired. The impression doesn’t leave when Cas turns around. Dean couldn’t see it from his seat in the back, but up close the dark circles under Cas’ eyes are more pronounced. There’s stubble that passes the five o’clock shadow range, and a tiny stain at the collar of Cas’ shirt. 

“Of course Dean,” Cas says. 

Cas is trying for Ice Queen, but there’s tiny little cracks in the veneer, like how he looks Dean’s body up and down, half checking in and half in want. The little tremble of his fingers as he puts down the marker. The self-conscious way that he tugs at his button down. They’ve both hurt each other, multiple times, and even though Dean would walk through crushed glass for Cas, even though Cas knows this...There’s still that doubt. 

So Dean doesn’t actually talk. He walks forward and does what he wanted to do from the second Cas walked into the room. 

Cas lets out a small, startled _oof_ as Dean’s body collides with his, but that’s all the protest he makes. In fact, his arms wrap so tightly around Dean’s waist that in a few moments, breathing is going to be an issue, but Dean doesn’t care about that. Not right now, not when he gets to drop his forehead to Cas’ shoulder and just breathe in the scent of him. 

“I’m sorry,” Cas mutters into his chest, the words barely distinguishable. “I’m sorry.” 

“Why are you apologizing? I’m the ass who made you mad.”

“But I--” Cas manages to drag himself away far enough to meet Dean’s eyes. “Let’s not play the blame game. Just know that I’m sorry and I know that you’re sorry.” 

Dean can’t resist saying, “Yeah, but just so long as you know that I’m sorrier,” and it’s worth it to see the smile dart across Cas’ face. Then it’s serious time. “I am though,” Dean says, grabbing Cas’ hand and stroking small circles across the back. “Sorry. I never thought about what you might want, I just thought about what I wanted…”

“Dean. Dean.” Cas’ hand is soft on his face as he thumbs over the soft skin just below his eye. “It’s ok. I promise. I just…” Cas’ eyes are the particular size of large that they get when he’s feeling particularly emotional. “I couldn’t figure out how to tell you that I was happy where I was, and that I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t want you to feel like I didn’t value you, or what you did--”

“God, you’re dumb,” Dean breathes, as he rests his forehead against Cas’. “Like, it’s a good thing you’re pretty because you’re so, so dumb.” 

“It’s a gift,” Cas says dryly, but he’s full on grinning as his fingertips sneak underneath Dean’s shirt to press against his sides. 

“I’ve seen the way you look at my butt. There’s no way that you don’t value me.” 

“How could I ever forget?” Cas’ hands continue their journey, crawling up Dean’s spine to scratch gentle furrows in his skin. “I just know how important your job is to you, and I do miss the school, I do, but I’m just...You ever walk into a place and realize that you just _belong_ there?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, because he knows exactly what Cas means. And because sometime in the length of this year-long relationship, he lost his testicles, he says aloud what he only meant to say in the confines of his own head. “I feel that every time I’m with you.” 

The second the words are out of his mouth Dean’s cheeks heat. He might think shit like that in his head, in the foggy moments between waking and sleep, but those kind of thoughts belong there, not spoken aloud in the stark sunlight of a lecture hall, to his boyfriend. 

Cas blinks at him, mouth falling open in a soft ‘o’ of surprise, before a wicked grin curls around his lips. Dean rolls his eyes, ready to accept whatever teasing Cas feels like he deserves, because there’s still something warm and pleased, soft and awed, in Cas’ eyes that tell Dean _It’s ok, because Cas feels it too_. 

“Did you get that line from Dr. Sexy?” Cas asks, pressing close to him. “Because that feels very much like something that should have been delivered to the accompaniment of an acoustic rock song.” 

“Shut up,” Dean mutters as he tries to pull away, but Cas holds firm. 

“No, tell me, I really want to know. Was it Dr. Sexy to Dr. Piccolo? Was there a single man tear on his face? Did the guitar strum soulfully?”

“You’re an ass, you know that?” Dean mutters, but there’s no heat in it. Instead, he relaxes into the feel of Cas’ body against his. Cas’ nails run up and down his back, sparking heat in their wake. And it has been a few days since he’s been this close to Cas...And they are alone here…

“No. No Dean.” Cas must be a damn mind-reader, or he’s just gotten damn good at reading Dean’s signs. “This is a functional lecture hall.” 

“But what about my professor/student roleplay fetish?” Dean asks, nuzzling into the soft spot behind Cas’ ear. “Wouldn’t it be horrific to deprive me of that?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure that you wouldn’t survive,” Cas says, his voice a little breathy as Dean nips at his earlobe. “Horrible side-effects if you don’t get what you want.” Despite his original hard stance, Cas’ hands have become decidedly purposeful as they start to sneak underneath the waistband of his jeans. 

“Come on Cas,” Dean urges, thrilled that it looks like he might actually be getting his way. “What if I just _really_ need that extra credit?”

\---

Thirty minutes later, with his knees bruised and jaw aching, and Cas boneless with pleasure against the desk, Dean has no problem admitting that he loves Cas’ job. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I just can't give up on these particular assholes. If you have any ideas or requests, you can leave them in the comments, or visit me on tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/dothwrites).


	3. pretty in pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I mean, I’m going to give you two minutes to get yourself stripped down to just these.” Castiel rubs the panties over Dean’s mouth, just because, before he drops them in Dean’s hands. “Two minutes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a bunch of filthy porn for other reason than I wanted to write Dean in panties and Gentle Dom Cas. Enjoy.
> 
> (Takes place almost directly after the epilogue of _one million fires burning_, if you're looking for where it goes on a timeline.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  
  


Castiel sighs as he looks around at his formerly picturesque bedroom. 

He’s thrilled that Dean is finally moved in. He’s delighted they no longer have to play the ‘your place or my place’ game anymore, over the moon that he gets to fall asleep next to Dean every night, that there’s no longer a question if Dean will come over tonight, that he gets to listen to the particular sound of Dean brushing his teeth every night before bed. He’s giddy, joyous, and other happy adjectives. 

But he hadn’t quite accounted for so much  _ stuff _ coming along with Dean. Boxes litter the once pristine floor of his bedroom and spill out into other areas of the house. He trips on them as he tries to walk down the hall. There’s boxes in the  _ bathroom _ for Christ's sake. 

For a moment, Castiel contemplates being a Bad Boyfriend and telling Dean,  _ Well of course, I would have loved to help you unpack, but I just didn’t know where you would want anything! I was respecting your wishes, really!  _

Would it work? Probably. Dean does love his personal space and the deference to his preferences would certainly earn Castiel quite a few brownie points. 

Would it be honest and ethical? 

Probably not, Castiel acknowledges with a woebegone sigh. He knows Dean well enough to guess where he wants his things, so he can’t claim ignorance as an excuse. 

Not to mention that he still gets a thrill every time he can do something nice for Dean. Dean always looks so surprised, just for a second, like he’d never expected anyone to care. It fills Cas with a fury for how Dean was raised, but every time he does something for Dean, that surprise lasts for less and less time. He’s willing to count that as a win. 

So he starts to go through the topmost box. 

The sounds of someone tinkering, mixed with soft, fervent cursing, drift through the hallways. Dean had been appalled when he discovered the slow leak underneath Castiel’s sink. “You haven’t fixed this?” he asked, like it was a personal affront to him. 

Unperturbed, Castiel shrugged. “Didn’t seem important,” he said, knowing that that statement was bound to get a reaction. 

He’s still not sure if that’s the reaction that he wanted--It did put Dean decidedly far away from him early in the morning--but it will also ensure that Dean is lovely and sweaty when Castiel emerges from the bedroom with his Good Deed done for the day. 

It’s a sacrifice he can live with, he decides, going through what looks like a box of nothing but flannel. Blue, red, green, some browns, some yellow, which is an interesting choice, but there’s nothing but that fabric within the box. This might be harder than he originally anticipated. 

He’d already cleaned out half his closet in preparation for the move, so there’s no problem fitting in Dean’s flannels (though how Castiel wishes his boyfriend would occasionally wear a fabric that didn’t make him look like a lumberjack, however sexy that may be). The last shirt is placed carefully on a hanger, and there’s the first box dealt with. Castiel smiles in satisfaction as he moves onto the next box. This one it seems, is filled with underwear. No problem, they go into the underwear drawer, already prepared with its neat little barrier in place to keep Dean’s boxers separate from Castiel’s. 

(It’s just that Castiel wears a different size because he’s a bit thicker in the thigh than Dean, a fact which never ceases to thrill Dean, even though Castiel has repeatedly mentioned that it’s just because he runs regularly and if Dean were to do the same then his legs would thicken accordingly.  _ No, that’s fine babe, it’s a good look on you, _ Dean will croon, his hands running possessively over the muscles in question, and after his hands reach a certain height on Castiel’s legs, he’s not really interested in Dean’s workout regimen anymore.)

The underwear is put away. Castiel’s pleased to see that he even manages to maintain some of Dean’s sharp folding creases as he tucks the fabric safely inside the drawer (who folds their underwear anyway; Castiel loves this brilliant, infuriating man). Two boxes out of the way and it hasn’t even been a full hour yet. Castiel feels as though he could accomplish anything. 

“A mountain to climb, a serpent to slay,” he mutters as he works his thumbnail underneath the tape of the next box. Strange that Dean had taped this one when all the rest had been folded shut, but then again, Dean is a strange man. Castiel doesn’t think anything of it as he rips the tape off. 

He rummages through the box, looking for a common theme--Dean is too organized not to have a theme for every box, bless him, but this one's eluding him. Unless it’s that universal theme of  _ oh shit, the deadline is here and I still have so much stuff, throw me a box and it’ll just go in there until I can sort it out.  _ It still doesn’t seem quite right, but Castiel supposes that he’ll just have to accept it. 

In the box are old lease agreements mixed with college papers mixed in with coasters that have to be a joke, judging from the unrepentant pot leafs adorning them. There are a few old photographs showing snippets of Dean’s college days. Castiel recognizes Bobby’s, Ellen’s, Sam’s, and Jo’s handwriting on several old birthday cards before he comes across a few old credit cards long since expired. His fingers brush against the soft fabric of a onesie so tattered and threadbare that Castiel suspects that it belonged to Dean himself. And at the bottom of the box, placed where Castiel could suspect they were put there by accident, except they’re folded with too much care to give truth to that lie--

“Well hello,” Castiel whispers, bringing the soft, silky fabric out of the box so he can further examine it. “What are you?” 

\---

He finds Dean exactly where he expected to--on his knees, half-hidden underneath the kitchen sink. His shirt rides up to reveal a delightful expanse of his lower back. Castiel wants nothing more than to dip down and taste that skin, but maybe later. He came here with a purpose after all. 

“Dean,” he says, softly enough to not startle Dean, but loudly enough to get his attention. “Can I talk to you?” 

“Can it wait for a second? I’ve almost got this.” Dean’s voice is tight, concentration bordering on frustration. 

_ No, are you kidding, this can’t possibly wait _ is what Castiel wants to say. But instead he keeps his voice even and says, “Of course. No hurry.” 

“Thanks babe.” Castiel hears metal scraping against metal, along with Dean’s grunts of exertion. Combined with the potential of the object in his hands, it’s enough to bring Castiel’s blood from a simmer to a rolling boil. 

It only takes a few seconds before the metallic clanging subsides. Dean's low chuckle of satisfaction takes its place. “Knew that I would get you, you little bastard.” Dean shimmies out from under the sink, his face wonderfully pink and flushed. “That’s chore number one off the list. What did you--” 

His eyes flick over Castiel, starting with his face and moving down his body. When they reach his hands, they stop. 

Castiel always thought descriptions of individuals turning white were hyperbole. He finds that’s not the case as he watches Dean’s face abruptly lose all its color. The freckles smattered across the bridge of his nose stand in stark relief to the bloodless look of the rest of his skin. It would be amusing, if it weren’t so heartbreaking. 

“How did you...I can…” Dean’s eyes dart from Castiel’s hands to his face and then back again, a quick little two step that’s going to make him dizzy at the very least, if not cause him to actually pass out. “I can explain,” Dean finally says, swallowing. 

People have looked cheerier on the way to their execution. 

“The only thing you have to explain,” Castiel says, slow, soft, as he walks towards Dean, “is why you never told me about these sooner.” 

He holds the scrap of fabric up to show Dean. 

The panties are a soft, pale pink, with small lace frills along the legs and waistband. The satin fabric slithers across his knuckles like a kiss. Castiel can only dream what they’d feel like on other parts of his body. 

At first he’d thought these were remnants of a past love, but it's not like Dean to keep such intimate souvenirs. Then, he looked at the size. Too large for any of Dean’s exes, and besides, there was a telltale pouch in the front. 

These panties were for Dean. 

“It’s not...I know that it’s not…”

Castiel isn’t cruel by any stretch of the imagination, and the look on Dean’s face is bordering on pathetic. “Dean,” he soothes, reaching up with his right hand, the hand the panties are wrapped around. “Dean, it’s fine. It's..." Castiel gulps down his own arousal as he locks eyes with Dean. "Trust me, it's more than fine.” 

He runs the panties over Dean’s cheek, fascinated by the way they catch on his five o’clock shadow. Despite the clear trepidation in his expression, Dean’s eyes flutter and his mouth drops open in an expression best described as blissful. Castiel ducks his head to hide a smile. 

“The only thing I’m angry about is that you didn’t tell me sooner,” he continues, then waits for the moment when comprehension overtakes anxiety. 

It comes sooner than he thinks, Dean’s eyes snapping open and focusing on him. Castiel bites his lip to hold back a groan when he sees how blown Dean’s pupils are. 

“You mean?” Dean swallows, tongue lingering around the curve of his lower lip. 

“I mean, I’m going to give you two minutes to get yourself into the bedroom and stripped down to just these.” Castiel rubs the panties over Dean’s mouth, just because, before he drops them in Dean’s hands. “Two minutes.” 

He doesn’t mark the exact moment Dean leaves the room. One second, Dean is in front of him, looking at Castiel like he’s the answer to the universe, and the next, Castiel is alone in the kitchen. He hears the noise of what is most definitely a foot hitting a box, but Dean doesn’t even curse. 

Castiel starts an informal count in his head as he paces around the kitchen. Already, his cock is half-hard. The feel of his jeans rubbing against it provides a hint of friction that's as infuriating as it is pleasurable. His imagination, always a friend, fills in images that will no doubt pale in comparison to the real thing. 

Castiel gives Dean a little longer than two minutes, just to be sporting, before he decides that he can’t wait any longer. He starts down the hallway towards his bedroom, using a bit more caution than Dean. He does have an awareness of seconds ticking away that’s normally missing from his everyday life. He’s lightheaded, all of his blood rushing down to fill his dick, hard at just the thought of Dean. 

He reaches the bedroom door and walks into a vision. 

Whatever he’d expected to see, this is better. Dean sits on the edge of the bed, aiming for demure with his hands in his lap, but the wicked little tilt to his lip means he falls far short of the description. His posture is an odd mix of provocative and ashamed--his legs are spread wide to show Castiel exactly what he’s offering, but the slight turn of his shoulders and the clasp of his hands try to hide his best parts. 

Not if Castiel has anything to say about it. 

“Put your hands on the bed.” 

Dean jerks in surprise at the command, for command it is. They've never sat down to have a serious talk about this, the way that sometimes their sex gets a little rough or how Dean likes being held down a little too much, and Cas knows he’s exhibiting slightly bad etiquette by moving forward without a talk outlining their limits. But he trusts himself not to go too far and he trusts Dean to tell him if it’s too much. If Dean tells him to stop, then he will. 

Dean might be surprised, but he doesn’t hesitate. Though his Adam's apple jumps with surprise, both of his hands fly to the bedspread, palms up. Desire churns in Castiel’s belly as Dean proudly lifts his chin. 

“Spread your legs.” Castiel’s voice is a low husk. A shudder runs through Dean and Castiel watches him struggle with indecision for one moment before he, slowly and deliberately, spreads his legs as wide as they will go. 

For all that he’s supposedly in control, Castiel feels undone by the sight before him. The pink of the panties perfectly compliments Dean’s fair skin, highlighting the contours of his lower body. The delicate lace stretches over his hips, while the strategically located bows direct Cas’ eyes towards the spur of Dean’s hips and the dip between his thigh and groin. Even though the panties are clearly sized for Dean, they’re struggling to contain his erect cock. Castiel can see the head of Dean’s prick straining against the waistband. And in the center of the panties, there’s already a dark spot where Dean’s started leaking. 

“Fuck.” 

Castiel travels the span of the room in two steps before dropping to his knees in front of Dean. He skims his fingertips up Dean’s calves and traces circles around his knees before he moves the teasing touches up to Dean’s inner thigh, muscle quivering as he skims over it. Castiel leans forward and places a careful kiss to Dean’s belly, deliberately avoiding the hard flesh. Dean’s stomach quivers underneath his lips. 

Castiel looks up to meet Dean’s eyes. His pupils are already blown; only a thin ring of green around huge circles of black. Castiel grins. They haven’t laid down ground rules and here Dean is, obeying all of his wishes. 

“I want to play with you.” Dean’s lips part at his words and Castiel reaches up to shove two rough fingers into his mouth. “I’m going to blow you, but I want you to keep your hands exactly where they are and I want you to keep quiet. Nod if you understand.” The edges of Dean’s teeth graze his knuckles as he nods. “Good.” Castiel presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below Dean’s navel. He’s so close to Dean’s cock that he can feel the heat coming off the flesh. 

“One more thing--I don’t want you to come.” A strangled whine burbles out from behind Cas’ fingers and he digs his nails into Dean’s thigh in warning. “You don’t have to agree, but if you do, nod your head.” 

There’s a moment when Castiel thinks that Dean will call a stop to everything, but then he feels the movement of Dean’s head as he slowly nods. Castiel rips his hand away from Dean’s lips so that he can replace it with his mouth. His kisses are demanding, tongue immediately seeking entrance which Dean readily grants. Castiel doesn’t stop until Dean is panting into his mouth. He only pulls away when he hears the ghost of a whimper that Dean isn’t quite quick enough to suppress. 

“If you want to stop at any time, just say Red. Understand?” Dean nods, but his eyes are already glazing over. Castiel tugs at Dean’s hair and some clarity returns to Dean’s eyes. “I’m serious. What are you going to say if you want something to stop?”

“Red, I got it.” Dean licks his lips. It’s obvious that every one of his muscles is straining forwards, towards Castiel. He can see the effort that it takes for Dean to hold himself back. “I promise, I’ll let you know if I don't like something, but honestly Cas, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem--” 

Castiel cuts Dean off with another kiss, this one short and brutal. He pulls away and Dean, clever wonderful man that he is, immediately picks up on the shifting currents of the room. 

“No noise. No touching. You know what to say if you want to stop.” Castiel sinks back down to his knees, though his fingers drift over Dean’s nipples. He could almost play it off as an accident, if it weren’t for the little tweak he gives to the nubs. 

Dean’s eyes clearly say  _ Bastard _ but his mouth stays shut. 

“Good,” Castiel breathes, palming over Dean’s thighs. He can’t help but notice the tiny jerk of Dean’s cock at the praise, or how some of the tension bleeds out of his muscles. “And remember.” Castiel breathes over Dean’s cock, knowing that the tease of humid air over satin will be torturous. Dean never flinches, though Castiel catches a swift flash of teeth as he bites his lower lip. “Don’t come until I say so.” 

There’s no mistaking the eager bob of Dean’s prick or how his stomach muscles tense. Castiel allows himself a slow smile. 

Hopefully, Dean will agree that this needs to be more than a one-time thing. 

The easiest way to make that happen is to make this mind-numbingly good, and Castiel sets to his task with gusto. After almost two years of sleeping with Dean, he’s learned all of his tricks and cheats. He knows just where to touch Dean so that he loses his mind. 

Castiel avoids all those spots, though he pays homage to them all by skirting around the edges. He reaches up to pinch at Dean’s nipples until he knows that the nubs are stiff points of pleasure-pain before he scrapes the edge of his nail over the stiff peaks. Meanwhile, the tip of his tongue traces along the waistband of Dean's panties. 

“It was very rude of you to keep these from me,” he tells Dean, sitting back on his heels to get a good look at his face. His hands splay wide over Dean’s thighs as his thumbs dip just underneath the hem at Dean’s leg. He presses into the crease between Dean’s thigh and groin but goes no further. “Think of all the fun we could have been having.” 

Dean narrows his eyes but keep his mouth shut. Castiel can’t help but be impressed. He’s deliberately goading Dean, practically daring him to speak and still...Dean is following orders. As a reward for good behavior, Castiel deliberately traces a firm line, from Dean’s balls up to the flushed head of his cock. He presses against the leaking slit through the silk, and while Dean’s hips jerk upwards to chase his touch, Dean still doesn’t let out a sound. 

“You’re being so good,” Castiel praises. “So good that I think you’ve earned a reward.” 

This isn’t about torturing Dean (though now that Castiel knows that’s on the table, what he wouldn’t give to lay Dean out and edge him for hours). This is about making Dean feel good. Whatever his motivations, there was a reason that Dean was worried that Castiel wouldn't accept this particular part of him, and that led to him hiding the panties. It’s Castiel’s job to make Dean understand that he loves all parts of him. 

With that in mind, Castiel bends his head low enough to capture the head of Dean’s cock in his mouth. It’s an awkward angle, and his way is hampered by the lace of the waistband, but Dean doesn’t seem to mind. A fresh burst of precome blurts onto Castiel’s tongue as he flicks over the slit. 

Castiel works his way down Dean’s cock, mouthing through the fabric of the panties until they’re soaked from sweat, precome, and spit. He works at the heavy weight of Dean’s balls, tracing their outline as best he can through the fabric. He tries every trick he knows to make Dean break, but Dean never moves, other than a restless shifting of his hips. The only sounds in the room are Dean’s ragged breaths and Castiel’s grunts as he works over Dean. 

By the time he pulls his head back, Castiel’s lips are raw from scraping over satin and Dean is a shaking mess. His eyes are wide and desperate and his lower lip is swollen to the point of bleeding from where he’s ravaged it with his teeth. He’s beautiful, glorious, and Castiel reaches up to touch his cheek. 

“You’re doing so good. I love the way you’re holding back, just because I asked you to. I love your self-control.” Castiel rocks up to kiss Dean. “I love the way you taste,” he whispers into Dean’s lips, just before he licks across them. 

Castiel feels more than hears Dean’s whimper. 

Normally, if Castiel were playing for real, this would be where he stepped the game up a notch. He knows if he tried, he could have Dean into a sobbing mess. Dean bends so beautifully for him and Castiel could take him apart. But this type of play is new for their relationship, and neither he nor Dean know exactly where their limits stretch. Later, Castiel vows, he and Dean will have a serious talk about how far they want to take this. But for now, Dean’s earned himself another reward. 

“How do you want to come?” Castiel brushes his hand through Dean’s sweaty fringe. “Do you want to come in my mouth? You want me to stroke you through your pretty panties until you make a mess of them? You want me to ride you?” 

Dean’s eyes, already lust-blown, grow hazier with each suggestion. Small trembles shake through his body. Castiel could push him further, but that’s not the point of today, so he uses firm touches to Dean’s cheeks and shoulders to try and center him back in reality. It works. Dean’s gaze returns to Castiel, and a spark of lucidity returns to his lust-filled hazy eyes. 

“It’s up to you how you come.” Castiel kisses Dean, sweet and gentle, on the lips. “You can answer. You’ve earned it.” 

Dean blinks slowly, and at first, Castiel thinks that he didn’t understand the question. He’s just about to repeat himself when Dean says, in a voice gone raspy with desire, “I want you to fuck me.” 

Castiel tries to hide just how deeply those words affect him, but judging from the smirk ghosting over Dean's lips, he’s unsuccessful. 

“All right love. I can do that.” He can’t restrain himself any longer and he surges to his feet, groaning as blood rushes back into his muscles. His stifles his noises in Dean’s mouth, kissing him with enough force to push him backwards onto the mattress. He fists his hand in Dean’s hair, tugging his head backwards so Dean’s mouth stays at the perfect angle for him. Pressed this closely, he can feel Dean’s hardness pressing into his thigh. It takes all of his own considerable willpower to not just rut mindlessly against Dean until they both reach completion. 

“Get onto the bed while I get ready.” 

It’s the work of moments for Castiel to shed his shirt and pants. He’s not trying for sexy so much as he efficiency; clothes are an unnecessary burden at this point. He wants to feel Dean, skin to skin. His own cock, willing to be ignored for so long, slaps against his belly when he slides out of his boxers. Castiel releases a slow sigh. He allows his urgency and need to pump through his body while he simultaneously tries to calm his raging blood. It won’t do either him or Dean any good to rush things at this point. 

Though when he turns around to face the bed, he finds his resolve sorely tested. 

Dean, his wonderful, glorious boyfriend, waits for him on the center of the bed. He’s propped up on his elbows and knees, head hanging low between his shoulders, with his perfect ass raised high in the air. The fabric of the panties stretches taut across his cheeks in a delicious tease. 

If Castiel hadn’t been rock hard before this, he certainly would be now. In fact, it’s probably a small miracle of human anatomy that he hasn’t passed out yet, seeing as all the blood in his body is flooding downstairs. 

Within a matter of seconds, he’s crawled up onto the mattress behind Dean, after making an important stop at the bedside table for lube. “Look at you,” he murmurs, stroking down the line of Dean’s spine in a slow, luxurious touch. Dean shudders at the touch, an involuntary reaction to Castiel’s slow tease. He tries to muffle his whine in the comforter, but it still reaches Castiel’s ears, high and needy. 

It’s then that Castiel realizes the full extent of Dean’s obedience. He’s not being demure; he never received permission to make noise. 

The knowledge threatens to knock Castiel on his ass. If this is how easily Dean takes to submission without any concrete expectations, how would it be when they set down rules? 

He shakes his head to clear his mind of those mental images. Dean deserves nothing but the best and right now he’s struggling. His muscles are tense with need, desire shaking through him. He’s held on for so long, been so good, and drawing this out unnecessarily is torture. 

“You’re so good,” Castiel tells Dean as he runs his fingers along the line of Dean’s crack. He pushes in, stroking over the furl of Dean’s hole with the fabric of the panties just before he pushes in, just the barest amount. He catches the swift flash of teeth as Dean bites into their comforter to stifle his cries. 

“It’s ok,” Castiel soothes, running his hands over Dean’s ass before he grabs the two globes and squeezes. “Let it out love, it’s all right. Let me know how much you want it.” 

It’s as though a dam has been opened. Immediately, the room is filled with a symphony of panting and moaning as Dean releases all the sounds that he’s been suppressing. “Oh fuck Cas, Cas, please,” Dean groans as Cas digs his fingers into the firm curves of his ass. “Please, need it so bad, need you so bad--” 

Castiel slaps at Dean’s ass, too light to be considered anything other than playful, but at the contact Dean lets out a desperate whimper that shoots straight to Castiel’s cock. “Fuck,” he breathes, repeating the gesture once more. Dean’s response is a little more controlled but still positive. “You’re a marvel,” Castiel praises, hooking his thumbs into the hems of Dean’s panties. 

He starts to work them down over the swell of Dean’s ass, only pausing when he notices the sudden tension in Dean’s muscles. “Something the matter?”

Dean whines. He clearly wants something and just as clearly doesn’t want to admit to it. Castiel runs a soothing hand down Dean’s side, the touch comforting instead of sexual. “It’s fine love,” Castiel urges, when he can tell that Dean’s jaw is still clamped on whatever he wants to say. “Whatever you want, it’s fine.” 

Dean takes in a few juddering breaths before he comes out with, “Can you...can you leave them on?” 

Castiel blinks. He’s not proud of how long it takes his brain to compute Dean’s meaning, but he’ll blame the overall lack of blood in his brain. “You want these left on?” He snaps the waistband of Dean’s panties. “Want me to fuck you while you’re wearing these? Want to come on the inside of them and ruin them?” 

The force of Dean’s nod shakes through his whole body. “Fuck yes, please Cas, wanna come in them, wanna come on your cock, please Cas, come on--” 

Castiel shushes Dean as he works the panties down Dean’s legs just enough to reveal the tightly furled muscle of his hole. Dean has to be uncomfortable with the fabric digging into his legs, his cock still trapped within the panties, but he doesn’t complain. 

Castiel knows that Dean’s growing desperate; he’s quickly finding himself in the same predicament. However, he can’t stop himself from spreading Dean’s cheeks with both hands and then leaning in and licking a wide stripe over his hole. Underneath him, Dean’s hips jerk, rutting forward into nothing as a choked gasp leaves him. “Cas!” 

Cas hums, delivering a filthy, open-mouthed kiss to Dean’s entrance. He’s learned that Dean loves a tongue in his hole, will moan loud and long while he's getting eaten out until he’s sloppy and loose with spit. Cas loves listening to him fall apart, loves even more how Dean’s hips will push back into his mouth, greedy for more. He alternates his touch between swift flicks over Dean’s entrance and long slow licks with the flat of his tongue. He pulls back to tease with delicate kitten licks around Dean’s rim before he stiffens his tongue and pushes in just the barest inch. 

Dean’s desperate enough that if he tried a little more, Castiel could make him come from his mouth alone. It wouldn’t be the first time and he knows that Dean’s already close. However, neither he nor Dean are going to be satisfied with that. 

He pulls away and Dean slumps forward. He’s shaking, and gasping, almost sobbing into the sheets. “Please Cas, please.” 

“I know love, I know. No more teasing, I promise. I’ll give you what you need.” 

Castiel means it. Neither of them can take much more. HIs own cock is hard to the point of pain and his balls are tight with desire. When he reaches for the lube he’s surprised to see a tremor in his own hand. Looks like Dean isn’t the only one who’s almost undone with need. 

His prep job is quick and efficient. He slides two slick fingers into Dean, scissoring after he lets Dean adjust to the stretch. Normally he would take his time with this; he loves feeling the hot, slick clench of Dean around his fingers, almost as much as he loves teasing Dean into an incoherent writhing mess. But Dean’s already teetering on the line where too much becomes not enough and it ceases to be fun. 

It doesn’t take long before Dean’s shoving back into his hand. Castiel pulls his hand away, appreciating how Dean’s hole clenches around nothing. “You’re so eager to be filled,” he murmurs, something dark and pleased in his voice as he smooths his hand over Dean’s hip. “You want it so bad you’re almost gagging for it.” 

Even the few touches to slick his cock up are almost too much. Castiel inhales a few times through his nose, squeezing the base of his cock. Already he can feel the churning heat of impending orgasm. But he can’t focus on that now. He has to take care of Dean. 

Dean, his everything. Dean, his world. 

“Tell me,” Castiel demands, his quiet voice barely audible over Dean’s panting. “Tell me how badly you want this. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you while you’re still wearing your panties.” With one hand he holds Dean open as the other hand guides the tip of his cock to rest against Dean’s hole. He rubs the leaking head over Dean's ass in an empty tease. He sees the shiver racing through Dean, can almost imagine what his face looks like as he tries to keep the words bottled up. Dean doesn’t want to beg and Castiel wants nothing less. It’s a test of wills, but this is also a game where Castiel holds all the cards. “Dean, if you don’t tell me then you’re not going to get a chance to soil those pretty panties of yours.” 

A thin wail escapes Dean as he shakes his head. “No, please Cas, please--” He gulps for air a few times as his hips push backward in an attempt to take Castiel in. “I want it, want you to fuck me so hard I can’t sit down, want to feel it for days, want your cock inside me, want you to make me scream--” 

Castiel thrusts forward, breaching the tight ring of muscle. He pushes inside in a long, slow thrust, and keeps his hands on Dean’s hips to stop him from taking too much at one time. He shakes as he slides inside, not stopping until his hips are flush with Dean’s ass. 

Dean’s already pushing back into him and Castiel has to dig his fingertips into Dean’s hips to make him stop. He’s worried about hurting Dean, but he also doesn’t want this to be over in two minutes. He intends to savor this, intends to make Dean beg and plead on the end of his cock. 

He starts out with slow, purposeful thrusts, drawing it out so that Dean feels every inch. Each push back in jars Dean enough that he jerks forward. It doesn’t take long of this before Dean is begging for more. “C’mon Cas, harder, give it to me--” 

A quick snap of his hips forces the air out of Dean. Bliss lights along his nerves as he sets a quick, brutal pace. Dean’s mouth hangs open as a series of incoherent cries fill the air. Castiel sets one hand on Dean’s hip and another on his shoulder, pulling Dean back into each thrust. He’s dizzy with pleasure, fire licking through his body to pool at every point of contact between him and Dean. 

Dean fingers twist into the sheets. A flush chases across his pale, freckled skin, turning it almost the same shade as the panties keeping his cock and balls trapped. Castiel wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into that lovely flesh. He settles for digging his fingers into Dean’s skin, knowing that by tonight there will be ten purple bruises blossoming across Dean’s skin. 

“Fuck Cas, oh fuck me, _fuck_\--” A litany of filth pours of Dean’s mouth, and each plea only spurs Castiel to new heights. The sound of flesh striking flesh fills the room, mingling with Dean’s cries and curses and Castiel’s low grunts. His thighs and ass burn with exertion and sweat drips down his spine. Underneath him, Dean writhes, trying to shove back at him with sloppy coordination. “Cas, Cas, I’m so fucking close, fucking, Cas touch me  _ please…”  _

Castiel snarls and rocks back on his heels, pulling Dean into his lap. Positioned like this, his chest flush against Dean’s back, he can’t get much leverage, but he’s able to thrust deep into Dean. One arm wraps around Dean’s chest while the other drops to Dean’s lap. He slides his knuckles over the straining length of Dean’s cock, moaning in appreciation when he sees how thoroughly Dean’s soaked the fabric. 

“You gonna come?” Castiel bites the words into Dean’s ear, his teeth nipping at the shell. He pinches at the sensitive skin of Dean’s inner thigh, sneaking his fingertips under the waistband of Dean’s panties to tease at his balls as he sucks a mark at the juncture of Dean’s neck and shoulder. “You gonna come on my cock? You gonna scream for me?”

Dean sobs as his head lolls back onto Castiel’s shoulder. His hands grasp at Castiel’s hair and thigh, fingers twisting and pinching as Castiel continues to shred his self-control. Dean’s strung taut with tension and need, sweat beading across his forehead and tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. “Please Cas please, I need it, please fucking touch me, please--” 

“Shhh. Lovely boy, I’ll give you what you need.” Castiel thrusts up into Dean, his cock rubbing at all the delicious spots inside him. “Fuck, you’re so tight, so hot--” Dean is shaking and falling apart, and Castiel’s not much better, all his caution fired away in the heat and the  _ need,  _ and he can’t, he can’t... “Fucking, come for me Dean, Dean,  _ come--”  _

His hand gropes at Dean’s cock, fondling him through the satin. He strokes up once before Dean throws his head back and  _ wails,  _ the sound torn from deep inside him. He drenches the fabric with the force of his release, ropes of white arcing free to stripe Castiel’s knuckles and his own stomach. 

He’d wanted to hold on for longer, but he can’t--Dean is still coming, his body shaking and sightless eyes staring towards the ceiling, curses and moans falling from his lips. He’s clenching around Castiel like a vise, filth spilling from his lips, and Castiel can’t-- Castiel thrusts into Dean’s body before--

It’s good with Dean, it’s always good, but this-- His vision whites out as his hips grind into Dean’s body, seeking every last drop of bliss. “Fuck, Dean, Dean, oh  _ god _ ,  _ fuck-- _ ” Castiel only manages to stifle his whimpers by sinking his teeth into the meat of Dean’s shoulder, ecstasy plowing through his veins. 

Castiel comes back to himself in bits and pieces. He’s aware of the aftershocks zipping through Dean, of Dean’s whimpers of pleasure bordering on over-stimulation. Dean’s shaking in his arms, tears leaking out of his closed eyes. 

“Cas, Cas, I can’t… Please, please, Cas…”

Castiel pulls out of Dean, his hands gentling on Dean’s skin. “It’s all right love. It’s all right, I’ve got you. You’re ok, I’ve got you.” He eases Dean into the mattress, careful to avoid the conspicuous wet spot. His hands run over Dean’s skin and he can’t seem to stop pressing kisses against Dean’s freckles and up into his sweat-damp hair. Every touch is intimate but not sensual, meant to comfort instead of arouse. 

An exhausted smile drifts across Dean’s face as he slumps bonelessly into the mattress, all the tension vanished from his body. Castiel hovers over Dean, making sure to keep one point of contact between them at all times. He works the ruined panties free from Dean’s body, careful not to touch his softening cock. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Cas says the words all the time, always eager to praise Dean, but he’s never said them like this, reverent, like he’s having a religious experience. Spread across the mattress, limp with pleasure, Dean is a work of art. Soft moans still fall from his lips as he floats in the afterglow. Looking at him, Castiel can barely breathe around the hot flush of love that fills him. 

“I’m going to go to the bathroom and get a washcloth. Are you going to be alright?’ Dean hums, which isn’t an answer, and Castiel delivers a sharp pat to his upper arm to get Dean’s attention. “Dean, sweetheart, I need you to answer me. Are you going to be alright?” 

One bleary eye opens. After a few seconds, it focuses on Castiel’s face. The smile Dean gives him is a little punch-drunk, but it’s lucid enough. “Hm. Cas. Love you Cas. I’m good.” 

Castiel presses a quick kiss to Dean’s temple before he rushes to the bathroom. Leaving Dean filthy and covered in drying come isn’t an option, but he doesn’t want to leave Dean alone for longer than is absolutely necessary. He makes sure to rush in the bathroom, wetting a washcloth with warm water before hurrying back to the bedroom. 

Dean welcomes him back with happy murmurings. Castiel takes his time cleaning Dean off, swiping at his legs and thighs with careful motions before he tosses the cloth away. The second that his hands are free, Dean opens his arms, and Castiel gathers him up in greedy motions. He shifts both of their bodies until he’s happy, Dean’s head tucked underneath his chin and his arms wrapped around Dean’s body. 

Castiel strokes down the line of Dean’s spine, humming lightly. He doesn’t know how long they stay there; he doesn’t care. He whispers praise and love into Dean’s hair, tells him how proud he is, how lucky he feels. He tells Dean how perfect he is, how strong and beautiful. 

Dean finally stirs, butting his head against Castiel’s chest. “That was good.” 

Castiel laughs. “Just good?’ he teases. “I must be losing my touch.” 

Dean cracks open one vivid green eye. “Don’t fish for compliments.” A delicate pink flush spreads across his cheeks. “You know how good it was.” 

Castiel drops a kiss to Dean’s forehead. He thumbs at the corner of Dean’s eyes, rubbing at the grit from dried tears. “Would this...would this be something that you’re interested in doing again?” 

Dean doesn’t blink when he asks, “Which part? The panties? Or the part where you order me around and it’s really fucking hot?” 

Castiel swallows hard as a small jolt of arousal spikes in his blood. Amazingly, given recent activities, his cock manages a half-hearted twitch against his thigh. Thank god for refractory periods. “I was thinking both.” He licks his lips, encouraged by the sudden heat in Dean’s eyes. “If this is something that you’re willing to explore, we’ll have to sit down and have a serious talk. There are rules that we need to set, limits…” He trails off when Dean pushes two deliberate fingers against his lips. 

“Love you Cas, but you’re kind of ruining the vibe. We’ll talk about that later. For now, shut up.” Dean punctuates his words by flopping deliberately against Castiel. He tugs at Castiel’s arm until it’s securely draped over his shoulders. 

Castiel hides his smile in Dean’s hair when he asks, “You just want to cuddle?” 

There’s a long pause. “Shut up.” 

“No, it’s adorable.” 

“Cas, I swear to god, if you don’t shut up then I’m going to invite Gabriel to stay with us for a week.” 

Castiel kisses Dean’s temple. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

“Mm. I wouldn’t, but it is a hell of a threat.” 

They lay together and their talk turns to nonsense--questions about what they’re going to have for dinner, plans for next weekend, and Dean’s intentions for Castiel’s backyard. Castiel holds Dean in his arms and thinks  _ lucky lucky lucky  _ until that’s all that’s in his heart. 

  
  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	4. talk about it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Great Panty Episode, Dean and Cas have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a tumblr anon, who wanted Dean and Cas to talk about kinks and limits. And then it got out of hand.  
On the timeline, this happens the day after Chapter Three. 
> 
> **sub!Dean, Dom!Cas, kink negotiation, oral sex, talk about Teacher/Student roleplay and semi-public sex**

~*~*~*~*~*~*

With the two of them working steadily at the task, it takes less time than Dean would have thought to get him settled into Cas' house. He's still not thrilled with some of the furniture placement, and a few of his knick-knacks are still in boxes, but for the most part he's satisfied. The state of Cas' kitchen has improved exponentially in the last forty-eight hours, and Dean takes full advantage of that fact. He makes both him and Cas full gourmet sandwiches, with all the fixings, even going so far as to find foil wrapped toothpicks. 

"Hey, Cas!" he shouts down the hallway. "Lunch!" 

Warmth floods into his veins at the simple domesticity of the act. How many times has he dreamed about something as mundane as this, and now it's finally a reality? 

Cas pads his way into the kitchen. He holds several pieces of paper in his hands and is wearing an unexpectedly serious face for mid-afternoon. "Dean," he says, before his eyes flick towards the sandwiches. "Are those for us?" he asks, momentarily losing his focus. "I didn't know we had all those ingredients."

"You didn't, I had to buy them. Anyway, what's up with the face? You look like you just finished rewriting your will."

"Hm?" Cas' eyebrow raises. "Nothing's wrong, I was just..." He shifts a little bit. Right now he reminds Dean of when Sam was younger and trying to work himself up to jumping off the high dive at the local pool. 

Dean gets it. They've been together now, in some capacity or another, for almost two years. While both of them have gotten better at talking through issues, neither one of them is about to pick up a Gold Medal in Communication anytime soon. At least they recognize the need for it, which is better than where they were. Progress. It comes in tiny bits, but it does come. 

"About yesterday," Cas says, and those two words are enough to spark a landslide worth of memories. 

The events of yesterday, at least the interesting ones, flash by him. Cas finding his panties (he hadn't worn them in years, but he never could bring himself to throw them away, he just tucked them in a drawer with the other pieces of himself he couldn't bear to leave behind), the exhilaration he felt as he was sliding those panties on, the whisper of the satin against his sensitive skin. How wanton he'd been while wearing them, almost like Cas knew the code to unlock this secret part of him, the part that moaned like a whore and still _loved _every second of it. His ass still remembers Cas' vigor. 

"I know we both agreed we'd be interested in doing something like that again, and we both agreed that we'd need to talk about it." 

"Yeah, but..." Dean begins, then trails off. He wasn't expecting a _right away _talk. More like, in a few weeks, he and Cas would get a little tipsy and then play a game of _Remember When _where Dean could say _Remember the time I wore panties and you fucked me to within an inch of my life? Be pretty cool if we did that again, huh? _And then they could go recreate good memories and never have to talk about their feelings...

He's beginning to see the faulty logic behind that reasoning. 

He wasn't lying when he said neither of them were really awesome at the whole communication thing. 

"If you've changed your mind, that's fine." Cas' voice is the particular type of gentle it gets when he has to soothe Dean through something potentially upsetting (finding a roach in his townhouse, theorizing that administration might take away his Advanced classes from him, wondering if maybe Sam wouldn't want to move back to California one day). It pisses Dean off a lot of the time, mostly because it manages to dissipate the fears so completely he forgets they ever existed. Even now, his breath comes easier. 

"No, I haven't!" Dean protests, probably a little too fervently. "I just...it's embarrassing, all right?"

The ghost of John Winchester looms in front of him, severe and disapproving. _Real men don't beg for it up the ass, _he says, lip curling with distaste. _Real men don't wear panties. Real men don't get hot at the thought of their boyfriend paddling their ass red. _

Dean swallows and tries to push those thoughts away. It gets easier with Cas' hand on the side of his face. 

"It's perhaps a little non-traditional, but I promise you, _nothing _about what we did was embarrassing. To see you let go like that, to feel that kind of trust..." Cas' thumb rubs underneath his eye. "Dean, you were magnificent. And I would dearly love to explore more with you but only if you're willing. I don't want you do anything just because you think it might make me happy." 

Dean leans into Cas' hand, soaking up the comfort the simple gesture provides. Sometimes it knocks him back on his ass, just how much he loves this man. "You don't think it's weird? Or..." He swallows, unable to put into words the strange sense of shame and exhilaration that he still feels. 

_"Nothing _you did was weird or wrong. Would you look at me differently if I said that I enjoyed being restrained during sex?" 

One of Cas' eyebrows arches in wordless challenge, and all Dean can do is gape at him. Fucker _knew _that would make him speechless. "Are you..." Dean's voice croaks a little bit and he has to swallow to get it back under control. "Are you shitting me?" 

Cas grins, the asshole, and shakes his head. "Not even a little bit." 

"You kinky bastard," Dean breathes. For a few seconds, his mind trips along the path which Cas has so kindly illuminated for him. He imagines Cas' wrists tied up to the headboard, immobilizing him while Dean teases him mercilessly. Cas is such an impatient son of a bitch sometimes, and it would be thrilling to see how much he could actually take...

"You seem to be enjoying yourself." 

"Um, yeah," Dean says, rolling his eyes. "My hot as hell boyfriend just told me that he sometimes likes to be tied up during sex, I'm going to have some thoughts about that." 

"So it's okay for me to like that?" 

"Yeah, I thought we covered--"

"So why wouldn't it be okay for you?" 

Dean stops, thinks, and glowers. Sometimes Cas is too damn good at hitting the nail on the head and cutting through his own bullshit. "Touche, asshole," he grumbles, swiping the last bite of Cas' sandwich in revenge. He takes the plates to the sink, rinsing them off before he puts them in the dishwasher. 

"So if we both agree that we want to pursue this, then we need to talk about it. I printed these out," Cas tells him, indicating the papers he was carrying. "It's a checklist, so for us to check off what we like, what we're interested in, and what we don't want to do." 

Dean takes one packet from Cas. It's much thicker than he thought it would be, at least four sheets of paper neatly stapled together. Succinct directions are printed at the top of the page, telling him how he should mark each box. Either _Beginner, intermediate, _or _Advanced _for what he has experience with, and then... "Limits?" Dean asks, quirking a brow at Cas. 

"Yeah. So, this one has four categories--It has _Love_ which is kind of like a must? Like you would probably put down Oral Sex as a _Love _and then mark it with a _Giving and Receiving_ or with a _Myself and Partner. _Because oral sex is something that you like done to do you and also something that you enjoy giving." Dean nods. "Whereas I would mark something like Lingerie with a _Partner _because wearing lingerie doesn't do much for me personally, but I _love _seeing you in pretty panties." 

Cas grins wickedly and Dean's cock gives an interested stir. _Down boy, _he chides, looking down at the list. "But what if I wanted you to wear them?" he asks. The thought of Cas' thick thighs encased in lace and frills... "You've said that you're not interested, so would that be a dealbreaker?" 

Cas shrugs. "That's where negotiations come in. It's not a hard limit--something that I refuse to do under any circumstances. Something like caning would be a hard limit for me. It's something that I won't give or receive under any circumstances. Most things that aren't hard limits can be negotiated. Wearing lingerie might not be turn me on, but if you wanted it..." Cas tilts his head. "Your pleasure would be arousing for me, so that would definitely be something we could negotiate." 

"Good," Dean says, quickly finding the place which says _Lingerie _and marking it with both _Partner and Myself. _"Cause I think you'd look hot as hell in some blue panties." 

Cas licks at his lips. His eyes are heated and for a second, Dean thinks that Cas might just toss the papers aside, damn the classwork, but no such luck. "Stop trying to distract me," he growls, handing Dean a pen. "Fill yours out and I'll fill mine out, and then we can see where we differ." 

Normally Dean flies through questionnaires. It's not as though anyone is reading them, and if they are, it's not as though his opinion is going to be taken into account. But this one he takes his time on, pondering every question. Under the title labeled _Physical Limitations _he makes sure to mention his trick knee which is getting trickier all the time. Under _Designation _he pauses. "Am I..." He looks at Cas, cheeks heating in his ignorance. "What am I?" 

Cas looks at him. "A pain in the ass? An Aquarius?" Dean rolls his eyes. "I assume you're asking whether you're a sub or a Dom?" Dean nods. "Well, what do you think?" 

Dean considers. "I don't know. I mean..." He swallows, and forces himself to speak. "I mean, I got hard as hell from having you order me around and the spanking wasn't too bad either, but it gets me hot to think about you tied up and maybe smacking that perky ass of yours." 

"So you'd be what's called a Switch. Someone who can either Dom or sub, depending on their mood or their partner. Same as me." 

Dean hums and obediently fills out the category. Then he pauses. "Hey, how do you know so much about this, anyway?" 

Cas freezes. He ducks his head to hide the swift pink blush. "It's possible that...Meg and I might have experimented." 

"No kidding?" Dean grins. While he and Meg are never going to be besties, he's long since accepted her place in Cas' life. And it's not like Cas has a problem with him continuing to be friends with Lisa, so Dean really doesn't have a leg to stand on. Plus, Meg is hot, and the thought of her and Cas together is...not horrible. "You let her peg you?" 

The sudden jerk of Cas' pen is answer enough. "Hot," Dean decides, grinning as he turns back to his sheet. 

There are more kinks and practices there than he'd ever thought existed. Some of them are easy _(Vaginal Sex _gets eliminated fairly quickly for obvious reasons), while others are more difficult. How, for example, does he feel about licking? Kissing is fun and sexy, but licking? Like, over his nipples, sure but if Cas wants to lick his elbow, then Dean doubts he'll find that particularly arousing. He shrugs, marks it down as a _Like _and moves down the list. 

Some things are immediate, hard nos. His nose wrinkles in distaste he crosses out _Golden Showers _and _Serving as Ashtray. _On the other hand, _Serving as Furniture _gets marked with a _Curious. _Next to him, Cas is humming in the tuneless way he does when his mind is focused on a task. He taps his pen against his lips as he writes out a small note in the margins. Dean is aching to see what he puts, but forces himself to wait. 

Oh god, what if he finds out that Cas desperately wants something which Dean's not willing to give him? What if this simple checklist wrecks their relationship? 

"Hey, stop," Cas murmurs, pressing down on his foot. Dean looks up and faces amused blue eyes. "I can _feel _you overthinking. Just put what you want. This doesn't work if you try and guess what I want." 

"What if--" 

"Dean, if a combination of my family and idiocy and your criminally low sense of self-esteem can't destroy this relationship, then a checklist isn't going to stand a chance. Just be honest." Cas dips forward and brushes a soft kiss against Dean's lips. "Whatever you put, I won't love you any less." 

_Teacher/Student Roleplay _gets a swift No from Dean (he finds _nothing _sexy about imagining his students in that situation; in fact, it turns his stomach a little) but other some of the other roleplay scenarios catch his attention. The idea of Cas as his boss and himself as the obedient secretary, while cliche, sends a low bolt of heat through him. 

After what seems like forever, Dean puts down his pen. His wrist aches and he massages it while he waits for Cas to finish, which he does, after writing a final note. Then he imperiously holds his hand out. "All right, switch." 

With some trepidation, Dean does. He takes Cas' packet, flicking his eyes over his answers. Like him, Cas put Switch at the top, though he did note that he does gravitate more towards a Dom role. Most of his physical acts are the same as Dean's--he puts high marks on Oral Sex, Kissing, Anal Sex, and Rimming. The more he reads through the list, the more Dean relaxes. Most of their interests line up. There are several differences--on some items, Dean marked _Curious, _while Cas marked _Tolerate, _but Cas hasn't marked _Love _on any one of Dean's hard limits. Mostly, it's what Dean expects, though he does raise a brow when Cas marks that he is curious about trying breathplay. 

Their only major difference comes at the end. 

"Uh-oh," Dean mutters, when he sees Cas marked _Teacher/Student Roleplay _as a _Curious. _

"What?" 

"You uh...You get hot thinking about your students?" Dean asks. All of a sudden, his stomach is churning again. 

"My students? Ew. No." Cas sounds offended that Dean even thought about it. "I marked that because..." He shifts on the chair. "Remember that time you came to my classroom and after class, you..." Cas trails off, but Dean remembers that event very well. 

"You liked that, huh?" he grins. "Naughty, professor." 

They probably should talk a little bit more about this, but ever since he started filling out the checklist, Dean's cock has been chubbing up as he either imagined doing these things to Cas or having Cas do them to him. Sue him if he wants to get his rocks off. 

"So, you liked that huh? Me sucking you off in your classroom?" He shifts to face Cas, then stretches out to run his hands over Cas' thighs. The muscle tenses under his hands, but Cas doesn't shove him away. "Thought about it happening again?" 

"Yes," Cas admits, his voice rough. "Thought about you sitting underneath my desk, sucking my dick..." He groans as Dean thumbs at the inseam of his jeans. 

"Yeah?" Dean drops to his knees and Cas spreads his legs to make room for him. "Thought about me coming to you during office hours, huh? I'm so _desperate _for your help...and I tell you that I'll do _anything _if you help me..." He leans forward, breathing hotly over the bulge in Cas' pants. "And maybe, just maybe, I've set this up from the beginning, because you're so damn _hot _standing up at the front of the room in those tight pants of yours..." 

"Oh, fuck, Dean." Cas slides down on the chair. One of his hands tangles in Dean's hair. "Yeah...and you're looking at me so damn innocent, but I know you're not." He thumbs roughly over Dean's lower lip. "No one with cocksucker lips like yours is innocent." 

"But professor," Dean says, his voice dripping with false innocence, "I've never done this before...You'll have to teach me, sir." 

At the honorific, Cas groans and his hips buck upward. "Yeah?" Dean asks. "That get you hot, _sir?" _

"Fuck, fuck, Dean," Cas whispers. "You have to start by unzipping me. Take my cock out." A shiver winds down Dean's spine as he follows the instructions. "Good boy," Cas praises, and this time it's Dean's turn to moan helplessly. 

"You're so _big _professor," Dean says wonderingly, holding Cas' cock in his hands. "It's not going to fit." 

"Of course it will, love," Cas whispers. He presses at the hinge of Dean's jaw, forcing his mouth open. "Stick out your tongue." Dean does so, moaning happily as Cas pulls his head forward. 

Salt bursts over the tip of his tongue as Cas rubs the head of his dick over Dean's lips and tongue. "Watch your teeth. I'm going to do this for you the first time, but you need to pay attention, all right?" He glances down at Dean, breaking character as he adds, "If you need me to stop, just tap my knee and I will, understand?" 

Almost out of his mind with want, Dean nods. Cas doesn't give him a warning beyond that. Faster than Dean can process, Cas has pulled him forward. With quick, almost brutal motions, he starts to fuck Dean's mouth. 

It's not the first time they've done this, but now there's an added element that has Dean careening dangerously close to the edge from nothing more than tasting Cas. Cas thrusts in and out of his mouth, his breath coming in ragged pants. "Fuck," he groans, fingers twisting in Dean's hair. "No way this is your first time, you're so damn good...Bet that's what you came in here looking for, isn't it? You come in here wanting to suck dick?" 

Dean moans around Cas' cock, saliva dripping out of the corner of his mouth as he breathes through his nose. Cas' actions are so _forceful, _almost brutal, but there's still tenderness in the thumb which rubs at the soft skin behind his ear. 

"Bet I'll be seeing you a lot during office hours," Cas grunts. He's getting close; Dean knows the signs, knows to look out for the jump of his stomach and the hitch in his breathing. "Next time you come in, I'll bend you over my desk, spread those cheeks. You'd sing so pretty for me if I did that, wouldn't you? If I ate you out until you were sloppy?" 

Dean sucks harder, winding his tongue around Cas' cock. Cas has an utterly filthy mouth, and Dean loves to hear it. He's imagining himself right now, spread out over Cas' desk in his office, Cas' long fingers working inside him, Cas shoving his tie in his mouth to keep him quiet--

Dean's _Oh fuck _is lost due to Cas fucking his way down his throat, but something of the sentiment must come through. Fingers twist almost harshly in his hair as Cas' hips buck up into his mouth with new fervor. Cas tosses his head back, groaning loudly as the muscles in his stomach and thighs clench. "Oh god, oh fuck, Dean, Dean, I'm gonna--" 

Cas' come floods his mouth and Dean swallows on reflex. He works his tongue over Cas' cock, coaxing more release out, until Cas gently pushes him away. "It's too much, it's too much," he whispers, stroking over Dean's hair. Dean tilts his head into Cas' hand, sighing happily as Cas' thumb strokes over the corner of his mouth. 

"Come here," Cas urges, and Dean works his way up from the floor, wincing as his knees creak in protest. He's not quite as young as he used to be and his joints hurt more than they used to. He works his way into Cas' lap easily enough, however. The kitchen chair creaks ominously underneath their combined weight, but Dean's willing to risk it if it means he gets to feel all six feet of Cas pressed up against him. 

"God Dean, you're so fucking beautiful," Cas says, his voice harsh and rough as he pulls Dean's lips to his. He massages at Dean's groin, cupping his hard length through his jeans. It's almost too rough to be enjoyable, but all of Dean's nerve endings are on high alert, turning pain into a knife's edge of pleasure. He moans into Cas' mouth, hips bucking forward. 

"You get this hard just from sucking me off?" Cas separates from his lips, nipping at his chin and jaw. "Or were you thinking about me bending you over my desk, working my fingers into you? You'd have to be quiet, and oh Dean, you're not so good at that, are you?" 

As if to prove his words correct, Dean tosses his head back to the ceiling and keens. His fingernails dig into the back of Cas' neck as his hips buck forward into Cas' hand. "Fuck, Cas, please," he whines. 

"I'd have to gag you to keep you from screaming, you're so noisy when you've got my fingers in your ass," Cas croons at him. "And then I'd fuck you, hard and slow, over my desk. Maybe I'd hold your hands behind your back, keep you from touching your cock." 

A hot bolt of arousal winds through Dean as his mind provides a titilating mental image of exactly that. Cas' tie, wrapped around his mouth, keeping his whimpers and cries muffled as Cas thrust into him from behind. And better yet, oh _fuck, _the people walking past the door, no idea of what's going on within, no idea that behind that door Cas is taking him apart...

"I can tell you're close," Cas growls, sounding entirely too smug for someone who just came. "You'd be close for me, you'd be begging me to touch you and let you come, but I wouldn't, not until you showed me that you're going to be good." 

_I am good, _Dean thinks, but all that comes out of his mouth is a piteous whimper. He looks down at Cas, moans falling from his trembling lips. He's so _close, _he just needs something to push him over the edge. 

"But you are, aren't you?" Cas kisses him, his damnably clever fingers working over Dean's groin. _Holy fuck,_ he's not even out of his jeans, and he's about to come in his pants like a teenager. "You're my good boy, aren't you?" 

The words strike at something deep in Dean, something he didn't realize he was missing until Cas slotted the piece neatly in place. "Yes," Dean whispers, the rightness singing through his blood. "I'm your good boy." 

Cas' smile is brilliant and everything he needed. "I know you are. Come for me. My good boy." 

Dean _shatters. _

He know he comes with a loud cry, knows that his fingers clamp down on Cas' shoulders. He throws his head back, rutting into Cas' hands. The rough material of his jeans and boxers chafes, but he's so far beyond caring about those small details. His world has narrowed to the feel of Cas' hands on him, the soothing murmur of Cas' voice, and the white-hot burst of pleasure behind his eyelids. 

"That's my good boy," Cas whispers, brushing a kiss to his temple. "Such a good boy." 

Dean hums, nuzzling into Cas' throat. He presses a kiss to the skin there and breathes in the musk and salt of Cas. He's going to need to move in a few minutes; come dried into underwear and pubes is no one's friend, but for now he soaks in the reassurance of Cas' hands and words. 

Cas' hand rests heavy and possessive on his lower back as he pulls back to look in Dean's eyes. "Did you enjoy that?" 

Dean's first instinct is to laugh. Cas gave him an explosive orgasm with nothing more than the heel of his hand and his mouth, and he wants to ask if it was good for him? A little snort leaves him as he kisses Cas, short and sweet. 

"Don't laugh at me," Cas pouts, though he returns each of Dean's kisses with enthusiasm. "I'm asking you a serious question." 

"I mean, I think you'd be able to tell the answer." Dean tries to rub his now wet groin against Cas, but the friction of denim on his already oversensitive cock turns out not to be a winning combination. 

"Well, that obviously, but I was more asking if you enjoyed the roleplay. I know it wasn't much, but it's important to talk about what you liked and what you didn't like. Was there anything that made you uncomfortable? That you wouldn't want to repeat?" 

Jesus, this is the most communication he's had with Cas in about three months. Dean's post-orgasmic brain can't take this. "Everything was good. You know how much I love your filthy mouth." He winks broadly to accentuate his point. "Though if I'm going to be on my knees for any kind of time, I don't think it should be on the kitchen floor. Shit hurts after a while." 

"Exactly. Thank you." Cas kisses at his temple. It's one of his thoughtless gestures he does, with no greater motive than comfort as his guiding principle. "Was there anything that you particularly enjoyed? Something you'd want to see more of?" 

Dean swallows. Though it's a logical question, especially considering the preceding one, he was hoping Cas wouldn't ask it. He already knows his answer, just like he already knows what he's going to tell Cas. The problem is reaching that point. 

"I ah," he stammers. Cas' eyes are the same kind of steady blue they always are, which is to say that they're overwhelming. He ducks his head into the crook of Cas' shoulder to avoid them. "When you were talking about being in your office, and all the people going by..." Dean thinks that Cas can feel the force of his flush through his shirt. 

"You liked that?" There's a faint note of surprise almost lost in the heat of Cas' voice. "Liked the thought of all those people walking by, without a clue of how good you were getting fucked? Or maybe," Cas' voice drops an octave, until it's rumbling through Dean's chest. "Maybe you want them to know, huh? Want them to know how you can take it? Want them to see you taking it so sweet from me?"

_"Fuck," _Dean groans. Despite the shivers of _too much _scraping through his nerves, his hips jerk forward. "Fuck Cas..." He pulls back, just enough to catch Cas' eyes, the blue almost eclipsed by the black of his pupils. "I don't actually...You know I don't want people actually watching us fuck, right?" 

Cas laughs, dragging his nose down Dean's cheek. "I didn't think you did. There's a difference between a fantasy and something that you actually want realized. Besides, you know I don't do well with sharing." His hand is warm as it cups the back of Dean's neck. "Like I would ever let anyone see you like that. That's all for me." 

Dean sags, boneless, into Cas. He doesn't feel like he can breathe, let alone move, so it's a bit of an irritation when Cas starts pushing at him. "Come on," Cas says, by turns cajoling and commanding. "You need to get cleaned up. And then maybe we can have a nap. And we should probably talk about safewords."

He eases Dean off his lap and tangles their fingers together as he leads them back towards the bedroom. Dean grins and follows. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


End file.
